When the Looking Glass Shatters - Part 1
by E1701
Summary: (ST/B5) The consequences of a war between omnipotents reach far beyond the limits of any one universe. Someone needs to make sure that history takes its proper course - all of them.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not surprisingly in a fanfic, I don't own any of these characters. Star Trek still belongs to Paramount, and Babylon 5 belongs to JMS, along with all of their associated stuff. 

Note: The point of intersection here occurrs in the aftermath of the Dominion War on the Trek end, while in the B5 universe, the events of "War Without End" are about to begin.

When the Looking Glass Shatters

Part I - Prelude to Chaos

Chapter 1

"Mr. Barclay, what do we have here?"

Lieutenant Reginald Barclay dropped the padd he was holding, and whirled towards the sound. "Captain? I w-was just uh, well, I was only..." Sudden recollection of his project lit his eyes. "I was d-designing a tactical simulation based on the capture of Cardassia Prime, and the battle that preceded it because it just occurred to me that there were probably other options available that would have cost the Federation less, and still have won against the Dominion, and it wasn't like I was going back to my holo-addiction, because I wasn't using that many hours and it seemed like a good idea - " 

Captain Jean-Luc Picard waved aside the flustered engineer's explanations with an amused gesture. "No explanations needed Lieutenant, I was on my way to my quarters, and I thought I would drop in and see what it was exactly that you had been spending so much free time on. Besides," he finished with a wink; "You left the door unlocked."

Barclay paled. "Oops." Picking up the forgotten padd, he bobbed his head enthusiastically. "Would you like to see what I have?"

Picard nodded. "Of course." Barclay was a gifted engineer, even if a little eccentric, and it would be fascinating to see what he had come up with.

Tapping a button on the padd, Barclay called out, "Computer. Activate program 'Barclay Dominion War alternate 2.'" Almost immediately, the grey crosshatched grid lines of the holodeck walls disappeared, replaced by the vastness of space. Picard almost stepped back, as he was suddenly surrounded by… nothing. It was unnerving, but Barclay seemed to take it in stride. Immediately, Picard could pick out the bright glow of a nearby star (dimmed by holodeck safeties, of course), and just off to one side was the reddish sphere of a planet – Cardassia Prime. Looking closer, Picard could make out the tiny gnats of warships and defense platforms surrounding the planet. It was almost a peaceful scene, he thought. But seconds later, Barclay pointed out another swarm of dots closing on the planet. The 6th fleet. Picard winced, knowing what was coming next. 

He wasn't surprised at all when the flare of phaser and disrupter shots were traded between fleets, but what happened next was surprising. Instead of enveloping the planet as had actually occurred, the fleet pulled into a wedge formation, heavy starships like Galaxies and Excelsiors at the center, lighter cruisers out to the sides, and the tiny tactical-fighters taking up the flanks. The Klingon and Romulan forces held back, and laid down a heavy fire from long range. Without pause, the miniscule Federation fleet tore into the equally miniscule Cardassian defenses, and ripped a path straight through to the surface. Then the simulation dissolved into a sparkle of multicolored light.

Picard blinked. "Impressive, Mr. Barclay. But why did the simulation just end there?"

Reg blushed. "Thank you sir. That's the point where the _Defiant_ would have had a clear shot at beaming down Constable Odo."

"I see," Picard replied critically. "But when the attack was launched, Admiral Ross had no way of knowing that Constable Odo could force a surrender that way." At the engineer's flustered reaction, Picard diverted the subject with a tolerant smile. "What is the purpose of this simulation, though?"

"Well, I wanted to see if looking back at past mistakes could help our fleet tactics in the future." Barclay paused pensively.

"Excellent concept, Mr. Barclay. I've always been more of an archeologist than a historian, but that is a fascinating field… what could have been." Picard allowed himself a small smile, and glanced down into the void of artificial space, and back at Barclay, who was gone. _What the hell? _Picard looked around, disoriented, and noticed almost immediately that the quality of the light had changed, though he was still surrounded by stars. The sun… It had brightened considerably, and the color was a colder white than Cardassia's. On closer inspection, Cardassia Prime and its attendant micro-fleets were absent as well. And looking down… a chill swept through him. Directly underneath his feet were the words "U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-E."

An even greater chill shot down his spine, when an all too familiar voice said, "I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment alone, _mon capitan_. 

Picard didn't even have to turn around. He knew that voice anywhere, much to his own regret. "Q."

*****

Lieutenant Commander Data was staring blankly at the main screen from the captain's chair. It was the midnight shift, so Data had relegated the functioning of the standard shift routine to a very small part of his neural net. The rest of him was preoccupied with other matters. One segment of his mind attempted to discern why Spot had recently decided that his corner display case made a better scratching post than did the actual object Data had carefully researched and replicated. Another pondered Lieutenant Barclay's latest obsession with rewriting history on the holodeck. Still another worked out a musical composition he was creating, attempting to utilize the tempo of jazz music with the instruments popularized in the musical Rococo movements of the 22nd century.

"Barclay to Commander Data." The interrupting voice stopped, almost as if afraid to speak.

"Data here, Lieutenant. What is it?" he said with a ring of childlike curiosity.

"Well, uh… sir, I was here in Holodeck 2 with the Captain, and he… um, disappeared."

Data cocked his head. "The Captain vanished?" Several of the bridge crew started to snicker softly, but Data silenced them with a glance. "Explain."

"Well… I was h-here talking to the Captain, and I turned around, and when I looked back, he… well, was gone!"

Data frowned. Had Commander Riker been at the conn, Barclay would be wishing he hadn't called. But Data wanted to make sure. "Computer. Locate Captain Picard."

The computer bleeped, and the feminine voice replied, "Captain Picard is not on board."

Now, the entire bridge crew was clearly shocked. Data stood, and turned to the tactical officer, a recent transfer, Lieutenant Boral. "Lieutenant, scan the entire ship for the Captain's comm-badge."

The blue-skinned Bolian set to his task with gusto. It took only a few seconds for the high-powered sensors of the Enterprise to find the signal. Sighing with relief, Boral reported, "Sir, I've found him."

Data looked at the relieved Bolian. "Where?"

Boral adjusted the resolution of the sensors, and tweaked the display, so he could get an exact fix. When he did, his skin darkened in agitation. "Sir! The Captain! He's outside the ship!" 

Data, unlike a human would have, did not stop to ask the obvious foolish question, but immediately demanded, "Is he wearing an environmental suit?"

Boral just shook his head. "No sir, but his life-signs are steady."

Data determined that if the Captain were indeed still alive, a few more moments would not lower his chances of survival any. He slapped his comm-badge. "Data to the Captain."

After a moment, Picard's voice floated over the comm, responding to an unasked question. "I'm here Data. I'll explain later."

Data pondered this for a minute fraction of a second, and came to a decision. "Commander Riker to the bridge."

After a second, Riker's voice floated back over the open channel. "I'm on my way Data, what's the problem?"

"Sir, Captain Picard is outside the ship."

"What?" Riker sounded dubious. "Why is the captain on an unplanned EVA?" 

Not having aquired the human habit of staring up when speaking over the shipboard comm system, Data continued watching the sensor images on the armchair console. "There was no schedueled EVA, Commander. The captain is not wearing an environmental suit, but appears to be in no danger. I must admit, I am at a loss." 

In the background, the sound of pounding feet was clearly audible. "Understood."

Riker broke the link, and Data leaned back the captain's chair, although having not yet perfected such movements, it still appeared to be a stiff position. "Lieutenant Boral, has there been any change in the Captain's situation?"

"No sir, I think that - " He suddenly cut off, leading Data to glance at him. "Wait a minute. He's gone! I'm now picking him up… inside his ready room?" The Bolian sounded terribly confused.

"Lieutenant, there is no direct access between the hull and the ready-room." Data lectured.

"I know sir, I don't understand it either!" Boral was terribly confused. It would take him time to get adjusted to the standard weirdness that seemed to dog the Enterprise. Data simply frowned, and waited for Riker to arrive.

*****

Picard turned to face the whimsical being, a very un-captainly remark on his lips. He checked himself – as much an irritant as Q was, it was easy to forget his true abilities. Picard still could not forgive Q for those eighteen crew members who'd been killed by the Borg when he had decided that Picard wasn't sufficiently terrified of the unknown, and had thrust the old Enterprise into their path. Turning on his heel, Picard confronted the bane of his existence, who, quite presumptuously, was attired in a Starfleet uniform with the rank pips of a admiral gleaming on his collar. "Q," Picard began, trying to salvage his temper, "Whatever game you've cooked up this time, I don't want any part of it. I want you gone."

Q drew back, and threw up his hands in mock affrontry. "_Touché_." Just as quickly, he resumed his usual haughty attitude. "I'll have you know that I have nothing but your best interestes at heart, Jean-Luc."

Picard was spared having to roll his eyes when his comm-badge chirped.

"Data to Picard," came the android's voice.

The captain tapped his own badge, picturing exactly what his second officer was doing. "I'm here, Data. I'll explain later." He cut the link, and glared at Q. "Enough, Q. I'll see you in my ready room."

Q paused, and glanced around, as if just now realizing their location was anything but normal for a starship captain. He inhaled deeply, and looked back at Picard. "Oh, come now, Jean-Luc, smell the solar breezes. I never mentioned it before, but you humans don't exactly smell like Bylian moon-flowers."

Picard tapped his foot. "Now, Q."

The omnipotent heaved a martyred sigh, and suddenly they were in the small ready room just off the bridge. "There, happy now?"

The scowl Picard turned on Q had melted junior officers. "Q, I won't be happy until you are off my ship."

Q thrust out his lower jaw at the captain, and his expression darkened. "Sutff it, Picard, this is bigger than you, bigger than your precious little Federation, and bigger than this entire trash-heap galaxy." He ignored Picard's silent fuming, and continued, in a lighter tone. "I'm giving you an opportunity here, Jean-Luc, so spare me your pontifications."

"Opportunity!" Picard was incredulous. "An opportunity to be a pawn in another one of your demented trials?"

Q leaned in very close, and shook his head. "This is the real thing, Jean-Luc." With a snap of his fingers, old-style military maps and charts were laid out across Picard's desk. The captain noted with little surprise that Q himself was now decked out in a starched white uniform that would have turned Napoleon green. Picard figured the medals on Q's chest were thick enough to serve double duty as armor. 

Playing the part to the hilt, Q stuffed his right hand into his shirt, and slammed the other on the table, causing the small figurines scattered there to jump. "This is War, _mon capitan_."

"War? Q, the Quadrant is at peace for the first time in more than a century!"

Q sighed gustily. "Have you learned nothing from the last time we put your scroungy little race on trial?"

"Other than that you take a perverse delight in manipulating my perceptions," Picard snapped.

"Har har, Jean-Luc. To put it bluntly, in simple terms you can understand," Q said, ignoring the bristling Starfleet captain, "there is more to existance than your own subatomic snippet of it."

Picard had had enough of Q's condescension. The arrogant being's attitude was grating under normal circumstances, if anything involving Q could be called "normal", but this had the makings of another one of Q's little games. "Dammit Q, tell me why you're here, and what the devil you're talking about, now!" The rage came out in a rush, and Q flinched slightly.

"Yes, tell him, Q. If you're going to toss this little ship all over the multiverse, you owe him that much at least." The third voice cut in, and Q flinched even more sharply. 

Picard blanched. The newcomer was a dark-haired woman with patrician features, and a self-centered bearing that made Q look positively humble. She had appeared in a flash of light identical to that which usually heralded one of Q's little tricks. That suggested only one thing to Picard. Trouble.

Q fidgeted uncomfortably, which gave Picard no small amount of satisfaction. "Q, this is Jean-Luc Picard, captain of this little trinket. Picard, this is Q," he paused significantly, "my wife."

The idea of Q being married struck Picard as outrageously funny, and witnessing her scathing attitude, he felt one flash of pity for Q, which he quickly banished.

"Well, Q?" asked the woman, ignoring the niceties of introductions.

Q heaved another sigh. "Oh, very well." He snapped his fingers, and his fancy uniform, the maps, and all the other trappings were consigned to the ether. "It's like this, Picard. There are forces out there who are trying to take advantage of the Q Civil War, and its aftermath."

"What forces would those be?" Picard asked reasonably. Then the first part of the sentance hit him. "And what's this about a civil war?"

"Oh, that, the Continuum had a... difference of opinion, you might say. But that's all over now."

"Oh, you're being much too modest, Q," the woman said archly.

"Well, of course I am," Q preened. "But that's not important now. You were asking about those 'other forces' I mentioned?" Instead of answering Picard's nod of confirmation, Q drew a blood-red letter "M" in the air, which hovered for a moment, and then vanished.

"Explain, Q."

"Come now, Jean-Luc, you didn't really think the Continuum was the only omnipotent race of beings in all the multiverse, now did you?" Without waiting for a reply, Q muttered something about "primitive little minds" to himself, then turned back to Picard. "As much as it humbles me to admit it, Picard, no, the Q Continuum is not the only omnipotent race out there, and in fact, the war to which I alluded to earlier has given our arch-rivals, the M Continuum, the opportunity they needed to run rampant across the multiverse, spreading havoc, destruction, and ruin in their wake. Oh, they've always gotten away with some of that, you know for the past few million years, the Q Continuum has been pretty hands-off - "

"Present company excepted, of course," Picard remarked drily. He ignored Q's glare, and walking over to the chair behind his desk, sat down facing the two godlike beings. The female Q's attitude blasted Picard's dubious hope that other members of the Q Continuum were less irritating than Q himself, and he still found the concept of Q's state of marital bliss (or lack thereof) quietly amusing, if in a morbid way. "So what makes this M Continuum any worse than your own, and why are you pestering me about it?"

To Picard's surprise, it was the femal Q who answered.

"To classify the M Continuum in a way your primitive conceptions can handle, think of them as the omnipotent version of the Romulan Empire." She cut off Picard before he could even open his mouth. "No, before you ask, that is a woefully inadequate comparison. They are ruthless, cunning, and they enjoy meddling in the affairs of less advanced species."

Picard was tempted to make the obvious sarcastic reply, but checked himself. As if knowing what he had been thinking, both Q's scowled at him. On second though, they probably did know what he was thinking. "Q, this is all very fascinating, but what does all of this have to do with us?" Suspicion dawned in his voice. "You aren't going to ask us to help you fight these 'M', are you?"

Both Q's laughed at that snidely. "Oh, heavens no, Jean-Luc," Q replied, still chuckling, "that would be like sending the Pakleds against the Borg."

The female Q smirked. "We're asking you to put out – brushfires, as it were. Setting right that which has gone wrong, and all that claptrap." Once again interuppting Picard before he could even begin to speak, she continued, "the M Continuum, M in particular, have been raising hell in multiple planes of existence, different universes, and different periods in time. We Q are much too busy to deal with such trivialities ourselves."

"To put it bluntly, Picard," Q said, leaning over the desk, and right into the captain's face, "I'm sending you off to handle the human aspect of things, defeating evil, saving the world, and all that nonsense. Your own puny little reality is safe for now, never fear." He sneered. "Of course, if you don't think you're up to the challange, it's no sweat off my nose. I'm sure I can always recruit some poor bumbling sod, maybe that rodent-faced chef from Kathy's ship, to try and restore the fabric of the multiverse... although I doubt humankind would last very long in most of them."

Picard pondered this for a moment. Granted, what happened to humanity in some other universe had no bearing on his own reality, but those people were every bit as real as he was. And the chance to explore entirely new dimensions didn't come along every day... However, first and foremost, his responsibility lay with his own ship and crew, and his own reality. "Q," he hedged, "If this is true, why not recruit dozens of me from other parallel universes?"

Q smiled disarmingly. "Why, _mon capitan_, what makes you think I'm not, right now?"

Picard was in no position to argue that, and he knew it. Evidently, so did Q.

"Alright, Jean-Luc, basically, I'm recruiting you, because what you do fundamentally affects all timelines that are similar to your own, or result from your own. So you'll never have to save a universe identical to this one, as big an ego trip as that might be for you."

Picard shook his head. This whole thing didn't make much sense. But the offer was tempting, and he couldn't deny that. Border patrols and flag-waving visits irked him, and he longed to be an explorer again – and what better unknown frontier than alternate realities and times? Starfleet could spare the Enterprise for the time being. Picard bit his lip, and glanced back up at the two Q's. "I'll need to speak to my senior officers, and inform Starfleet about your -"

"I knew you'd see it my way, Picard!" Q crowed.

"I didn't say - "

"Oh, don't worry, Jean-Luc, I wouldn't send you all on your lonesome." Q glanced around. "Junior! Get in here!" he shouted at the ceiling.

__

Junior? Picard thought in growing horror. He had seen that Q was married, and it was only a logical leap that... a flash of white light confirmed his worst fears.

Picard had never been fond of children. He barely knew how to relate to Wesley Crusher, and Beverley's son had been much more mature than most his age. Q's son, well, Q's son appeared to be a chip off the old block. Picard tried not to wince too obviously.

Q grabbed the teenaged boy around the shoulder, and pulled him towards the captain's desk, and with clear relish, said, "Jean-Luc, I'd like you to meet my son, q. Junior, this is Captain Picard."

The boy glared at his father, and elbowed the elder Q in the ribs. "Dad, I'm not an infant anymore." He gave the room a once-over, and shrugged. "So this is the human you're so interested in?" He sounded bored.

Q leaned over, and whispered something, which to Picard sounded like "he makes Aunt Kathy look positively forgiving," and the boy gulped, and stared at Picard more closely.

Picard had finally had enough. "Q, I did not say I would go off on this little jaunt of yours. I'll need to speak to my officers, and to Starfleet regarding your... proposal. You haven't given me one reason why I should put my crew at risk, and deprive Starfleet of the Enterprise without even knowing how long we'll be gone."

"He's right you know," the female Q interjected.

"Oh very well, Picard, if you must know," Q said, as if imparting a gift, "I've spent enough time around your little corner of the cosmos that it's drawn M's attention. I imagine that you in particular, Picard, would hold some interest for her. It would be better for all concerned, especially your Federation, if you were absent during this little skirmish."

"What else, Q?" Picard still had the feeling that Q was holding something back. Something that he was certain he would not like.

Q nudged his son. "See what I told you? He's not as limited as his tiny mortal mind would suggest." Turning back to Picard, Q nodded grudgingly. "There is one tiny little thing. Nothing worth mentioning, really."

Picard frowned, and Q sagged.

"I want you to take Junior along."

"Absolutely not! Q, this is a starship, not a nursery!" The younger Q bristled, but restrained himself at Picard's outburst.

"Oh, don't worry, he'll behave, this time." The female Q shot her son a warning glance, and he flushed and looked away.

Q looked around happily. "Then it's all settled." Seeing Picard's expression, he amended, "but of course, you can confer with all your little friends first."

Without waiting for a reply, Q and his wife vanished, leaving Junior still standing in Picard's ready room. Worse, Picard knew that if Junior displayed any of the abilities of his father and mother, if he wanted to stay, he was going to, whether Picard or anyone else wanted him to. Resigning himself to having the boy aboard for the time being, he tapped the comm-badge on his chest as he rose from his chair. "Senior officers to the conference room." He severed the link, and reaching over to the skulking young Q, plucked the shiny rank pips off his collar. Expecting a fight over that indignity, Picard was surprised when the boy simply shrugged. Not daring to hope that Q's son would prove more mature than his father, Picard stepped onto the bridge, where the crew fixed him with curious stares. 

Riker, who had since taken command of the bridge, stood from the center chair, and walked over to his captain.

Picard held up a hand, and simply said quietly, "I'll explain in a few minutes, Will."

Riker nodded understandingly, and flicked a questioning gaze to the teenager standing behind Picard.

"Ensign Jonas," Picard said louder, to a security officer hovering near the aft turbolift, "Assign our... guest some quarters."

Even as the security officer left the bridge, Picard led the way into the conference room. He had a lot of explaining to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I don't like this, Captain," said Will Riker, as he scratched his stubbled chin. Data's call had caught him in his quarters, and he hadn't had a chance to shave yet. "This sounds too much like Q is testing us again."

Picard nodded. "I'm tempted to agree with you there, Number One." Then he frowned. "But something's different this time. Call it a hunch."

"If I may," Data said, getting a nod from Picard, "I have been considering what you have told us, Captain. If we are to assume that Q is telling the truth in this matter, I believe that we should indeed undertake this mission."

"That's a mighty big 'if', Data," Riker cautioned.

"How did you come to that conclusion, Mr. Data?" Picard asked, geniunely curious. He had found from previous experience that Data's counsel was often wiser than his demeaner suggested. However, for the life of him, Picard could not understand the reasoning behind the android's confident recommendation to take Q at his word.

"Now wait a second!" The young Q jumped up from the corner seat where he'd been sulkily slinging a yo-yo across the ceiling, over the table, and in complicated loops around his head. "Dad was telling the truth! The M really are starting a war." He gulped with all eyes focused on him, but pressed ahead. "I saw some of it myself. The M were manipulating things during key events in dozens of realities!"

Data pondered this outburst for a moment, then nodded. "Captain, this information confirms my theory. I believe these 'M' are travelling to critical moments in the histories of many of these realities, and are changing their outcomes."

"But how does this affect us?"

"If events in critical periods are altered, it will result in a chain-reaction in every resultant universe generated following those events." Data paused significantly. "That could potentially include our own."

Riker shook his head. "Data, that's all still based on Q's word." He snorted, and added, "for all we know, Junior here could just be Q in another guise. I wouldn't put it beyond him to be able to appear in three places at once in different forms."

Barking a laugh, Junior rolled his eyes. "If this is how you mortals behave all the time, no wonder Dad finds you so intriguing." The way he said the word "intriguing" sounded with all the enthusiasm as though he were talking about an ant farm.

Ignoring the barb, Picard had to acknowledge Riker's possibility, and said so. "I don't think so, though, Number One," Picard qualified. "This isn't Q's style, and I saw the three Q's interacting far too believably to be another of Q's tricks. That aside, the last few times he put us on trial, he did not ask us to participate." 

Riker only grunted in response, clearly not willing to give Q the benefit of the doubt.

Picard glanced around the table at the faces of his trusted officers and friends. "The question now becomes whether we trust Q enough to act on his word alone."

Geordi LaForge leaned across the big table, a concerned look written on his features. "Captain, if Data's analysis is right," said the soft-spoken engineer, "the longer we delay, the more likely that something will be affected enough to jeopardize our own reality." He sighed. "I don't trust Q any more than the rest of you, but on the chance he is telling the truth – can we afford to not act?"

That held enough truth to sting, and even Riker held his tongue. Troi could only shrug helplessly. She'd never been able to sense anything more illuminating than pure power from Q.

"Very well then," Picard said pointedly, locking his gaze on Q's son, who squirmed under the attention. "Now what information do you have regarding this venture?"

"Like just how we'd go about doing it," Geordi said.

"Dad didn't tell me much," Junior admitted slowly, "but he did say that the main reason I'm here is to actually transport you around the multiverse... and to keep out of his hair when the other shoe drops," he finished with a hint of resentment in his voice. Before Riker could voice his displeasure at this particular tidbit, the boy continued speaking. "But I do know that we can recruit help from any of the places we visit." He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Dad left me with only a list of places that need our help, and people who we need to watch out for."

"We? Our?" Geordi muttered under his breath.

The boy shrugged defensively. "I'm stuck with this little mission same as you. I'm not as omniscient as Dad just yet, and I've only visited a few of these realities myself, so that's all I know."

Riker's glower could have liquified hull plating.

Then a shrill whistle cut through the tension in the conference room. "Captain," came Lieutenant Boral's voice from the bridge, "we've picked up an incoming Federation warp signature.

Picard frowned. Patrols along the Romulan Neutral Zone seldom allowed for chance meetings between starships. Given the circumstances, he rather doubted it was anything so kindly as chance. "Understood," he said.

"Thank you all for your input. I've made my decision." Picard let out a pent up breath. "We'll do it." He looked over at his executive officer. "I know how you feel, Will, but if this is a test, he'll go about it regardless of what we do. But if Q was telling the truth..." He let the sentence hang there, and strode out on to the bridge.

"Captain on the bridge!" Boral barked, snapping to attention. 

Picard walked over to his command seat, and felt Riker moving in behind him to take his own place on the bridge. "Report."

Boral glanced briefly at his tactical display. "It's a Defiant-class ship. In fact, it's the Defiant herself." Then something chimed on his console. "And she's hailing us, sir," he amended.

"On screen."

The starfield on the screen was abruptly replaced by a grim, yet very familiar, visage.

"Mr. Worf, this is a surprise." Picard allowed himself a smile at the welcome reappearance of his former security officer. In the background of Defiant's bridge, Picard could make out several other members of the staff of Deep Space Nine, including Ensign Nog and Julian Bashir.

Onscreen, Worf nodded, and acknowledged, "Captain."

"Without being too blunt, Commander, what brings you here? Shouldn't you be on Qo'Nos?"

Worf scowled, but not at any of them, Picard realized. "At Chancellor Martok's request, I had been overseeing Federation-Klingon interests, mostly the post-war relations with Bajor. Two days ago Q made an appeareance on Deep Space Nine. He made an... interesting proposition to Colonel Kira, and suggested we investigate his claims." Worf's deep bass growl demonstrated exactly what he thought of following Q up on anything. "The situation at Bajor has moved into politics," Worf nearly spat the word, "so she felt detatching the Defiant for the time being would not present any problems. As you know, my commission with Starfleet is still active, so I immediately resigned my position with Martok, and rejoined Starfleet for the duration."

Picard blinked at the matter-of-fact way Worf imparted these details.

"These were the coordinates we were given by Q," Worf concluded.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Picard murmured. "We were also contacted moments ago by Q, Mr. Worf. He explained the situation to us much as I imagine he did to you. I'd like to hear your opinion on the matter."

Worf shrugged his massive shoulders. "I do not trust Q, sir. I would advise against playing into his hands, but Colonel Kira felt that in the event Q was telling the truth, we had an obligation to follow it up." His grimace projected exactly how he felt in that regard.

"We have come to the same conclusion, Mr. Worf," Picard responded, watching his friend's face fall. "We don't trust Q either, but in this case, we can't afford not to investigate."

Worf nodded glumly. "Aye sir, I had a feeling you would say that." He paused, and added, "But we will acompany you."

Picard quirked a genuine smile at that. "And I had a feeling you would say that, Mr. Worf. I've never known you to back down from a challenge." Both of them flashed back on the painful incident between them during the fight with the Borg. Picard swore to himself that he'd never allow himself to lose control that way again.

Snapping himself out of it, he looked over at the young Q sitting on the edge of a console, swinging his feet, and the boy jumped down, abashed. Picard's eyebrow rose involuntarily. It seemed that Q hadn't yet instilled all the wrong values in his son. "It's your show now, Junior."

The boy chewed his lip in concentration. "I think I know where to start," he said. "I've only been there a few times, but that's more than I've seen of most of them." He snapped his fingers, and a hole simply opened in space. It opened onto another starfield, but the Enterprise's sensors overlayed the swirling energies that composed the edges of the opening onto the image on the viewscreen.

Data looked up from his console. "Captain, the phenomena does appear to be a transdimensional gateway. The matter on the other side appears to have a deviant quantum signiture."

"Captain, it shouldn't have any adverse effects on our engines or warp field," Geordi reported from the aft engineering console, "so near as I can tell, it's safe."

"Once more unto the breach," Picard breathed. "Helm, forward one-quarter impulse." He waited a moment, then gestured towards the vortex with his usual movement. "Engage."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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Captain's Log, Stardate 5373.8: It has been two days since we entered this dimension, and rather disturbingly, we have picked up no sign of any subspace comm-traffic or warp signatures, in an area that in our own universe is a hub of activity. Q's son, whom for lack of a better name, we continue to call 'Junior', has not been forthcoming with information, but suggested we proceed to the Epsilon Eridani system, the home of planet Vulcan. Junior himself is fascinating, and could occupy Starfleet psychologists for decades. Fortunately for our sanity and Mr. Worf's patience, the boy does not share most of his father's less redeeming qualities. Counselor Troi cannot read Junior's emotional state, but she has been trying to discern where he learned not to treat human beings like lab rats, as his father is wont to do. Perhaps we'll finally get some answers when we reach our destination.

Picard took a deep sip of his Earl Grey, and rotated his chair away from the terminal where he'd just entered his log entry to stare out the window at the stars racing past. He had been reading up on previous encounters starships had had with alternate dimensions, and realized that out of all of them, none were truly different in any fundamental way. James Kirk had been the first to encounter the so-called Mirror Universe, and that was still the most divergent case known. Chief O'Brien and Worf had filled him in with their own accounts of that particular reality, and he was glad he'd never had the misfortune to see it himself. At that thought, Picard smiled sadly. Based on the personality of the Kirk he'd met in the Nexus, he could imagine that the legendary captain would have loved this kind of adventure. But that was neither here nor there, he reminded himself sternly. There was also the time Worf had gone reality-skipping, but the big Klingon wouldn't speak much about that. In that case too, Picard remembered, when the quantum barriers had broken down, all of the ships that had appeared were all variations of the Enterprise, most of which were probably identical to his own in everything but minor details. The most extreme divergence there had been a reality where the Borg had taken over, led by himself – no, Locutus – he snapped mentally. He hadn't had any choice in the matter.

His ruminations were interupted by the door chime. He hoped he hadn't been ignoring it long. "Enter," he said, as he turned toward the door, and reflexively tugged the hem of his uniform.

Deanna Troi breezed into the room looking as composed as ever, even when the very foundations of reality were no longer quite as solid as they had seemed a few days ago. 

"Ah, Counselor, what can I do for you?" Picard asked, gesturing her towards the small sofa across from his desk. Not for the first time, he wished that the room were as large and inviting as the one on the previous Enterprise had been.

"I was about to ask you the same question, Captain," she said with a sparkle of humor in her expressive eyes. She took the proffered seat and tucked an errant strand of raven hair back behind her ear. Even to a half-Betazoid, the captain's forceful emotions stood out above the general background of the rest of the crew, even Data's sometimes erratic moods. After a moment of studied silence, she asked, "Would you like to talk about it?"

Picard favored her with a sour look. "I don't know if I've done the right thing, Deanna," he finally admitted. "No, strike that, I do know that this is the right thing. But what happens when something goes wrong because of my decision? I'm risking the lives of everyone aboard both ships for the sake of people who don't even exist in our reality."

"Captain, there are some among the crew who disagree with your decision, and others who support it fully. But all of them trust you implicitly," Troi said with an erneastness that surprised Picard. "Whatever decisions you do make, and whatever the consequences, they understand that, even if you do not."

Picard was touched by Deanna's concern for him, but he shook his head. "That isn't the only issue." It wasn't that simple. "Counselor, I've tried to obey the Prime Directive whenever possible, unless my conscience dictacted otherwise, and sometimes even then." He sighed, and said, "Do we really have any right to change the course of history for these people? We could end up causing a greater disaster, through a misguided effort to help, than would be caused otherwise." 

Troi recognized that the captain was using her as a sounding board while he worked through the termoil of his thoughts. She smiled slightly and sat back on the couch. Sometimes, simply listening was all that was required.

"If we are to take Q at face value," Picard was saying, "for all we know, these M could simply nudge events slightly, and allow our own overcompensation to do the damage for them. And how the devil do we know what is the proper course of events in these realities in the first place?"

"Riker to Captain Picard." The sudden interuption shattered Picard's reverie, and he relaxed enough to shoot a tight smile at Troi.

"What is it, Number One?" Picard asked, involuntarily glancing up at the ceiling.

"Captain, we've reached the Epsilon Eridani system."

A glance out the window showed that they had dropped out of warp. But something in Riker's voice told Picard that his first officer had been shaken by something. Of course, Picard had to admit to himself, he knew his first officer well enough to detect any crack in his usual impreturbability. From the expression on her face, Picard could tell that Troi had heard the same thing. "On my way."

As soon as Picard stepped out of the ready room, Riker stood and relinquished the center seat. At the same moment, Data emerged from the aft turbolift and relieved the ensign stationed at the Ops console. His fingers were flying across the board before he'd even sat down.

"Report, Number One," Picard said, settling into his chair.

Riker sat back in his own chair to Picard's right, and called up a display on the captain's armrest screen. "We've taken up a position in the system's Oort Cloud. I figured that if everything was normal, so to speak, we'd be hailed by Vulcan Space Central."

"Good thinking, Number One," Picard replied approvingly.

Riker's expression didn't clear at the compliment. "There's a problem though. As far as we can tell, Captain, there is no planet Vulcan here."

"What? Do you mean that the planet never existed?"

Data looked up from his console, and shook his head. "No sir, Epsilon Eridani I and II, planets Vulcan and T'Kut, are still present, but from this distance, we can detect no life-signs on their surfaces, nor any evidence of a technological civilization on those planets."

Picard shivered slightly. The possibility of pure non-existence in one of these parallel universes had occurred to him, but the reality of it was terrifying. A look around the bridge at the crewmen there, a tense look, haunted gaze, or involuntary twitch, even from Data, showed him that they felt the same way.

But he had caught the phrasing in Data's statement, and decided to call him on it. "Mr. Data, 'those planets' could be taken to mean that you have found something elsewhere."

Data cocked his head at Picard, expression neutral, but tinged with scientific curiousity. "Indeed, Captain. There is an artificial construct in high orbit of the third planet in the system, of unknown configuration."

Picard felt the familiar thrill of discovery at that news. It had been too long since he last experienced that heady feeling, and it made him feel as young as if he were back on the Ba'ku planet.

"However," Data continued, brow furrowed, "the planet itself is exhibiting unusual characterisitics. It appears to be blocking our sensor scans."

Riker looked up at that. "Could it be natural?"

"I do not believe so, sir. The surface is lifeless, and the composition of the crust not unusual, but at this distance, I cannot be certain."

"Then we're just going to have to get closer," Picard said firmly. "Mr. Data, is there any sign that they've detected our presence?"

"Negative, sir. There is a significant amount of traffic in the immediate vecinity of the space station, but it has not changed since we dropped out of warp."

Picard nodded perfunctorily. "Very good, Mr. Data." He turned to look at his trusted first officer. "We don't know what the limit of their sensor range is, but I want to get a feel for the water before I dive in. To that end, perhaps this is a golden opportunity for one of the only ships in Starfleet with a cloaking device."

Will Riker mentally flinched at that unfortunate reminder of the Pegasus incident. It had taken him a long time to regain the captain's complete faith in him after that. Out loud he said, "Agreed sir, I'll take an away team to the Defiant, and try to get onto that station."

"Belay that." Picard saw Riker's stung expression, and continued softly, "I need you in command here, Will. It was my decision to get us into this in the first place, and I intend to take the first risk myself."

Riker was clearly unhappy with that. It was his duty to protect the captain, and to make sure he didn't take exactly the sort of risk he was intending right now. But if Picard was insistant on going himself, there wasn't much Riker could reasonably do to stop him. He nodded mutely.

"Lieutenant Boral, hail the Defiant." Picard commanded.

Almost instantly, the viewscreen jumped to the Defiant's bridge, where Worf was seated at the center chair, looking so much a part of the furniture, Picard would not have been surprised to learn that Worf had not left it since they'd come through the portal.

"Captain." The word was both greeting and acknowledgement. Picard had the feeling that Worf already knew what he was thinking, and had already figured it out for himself.

"Mr. Worf," Picard said by way of preamble, "I'd like permission to come aboard. I have an idea, and I'd like your input..."

*****

Gazing into the organized madness around him, Doctor Julian Bashir surveyed the transporter room aboard Defiant. In particular, he studied the teenaged boy Captain Picard had introduced as the son of Q. He didn't know quite what to think of that, but, the possibilities were incredible. He hoped to get the chance to speak to Junior at a later date. From what he'd been able to squeeze out of Miles on the subject when Q and Vash had made their appearence on DS9 a few years earlier, he'd understood that Q had not had a mate, at least that the Chief knew of, during their original encounter on the Farpoint mission. And the Q he himself had seen cavorting with Vash on the Promenade didn't seem like someone with a wife back home to worry about. Bashir sighed, but right now, there were more immediate concerns. 

The past few hours had been bedlam, after two days of monotonous cruising, but it seemd to be coming to a head. The Defiant had warped in-system under cloak, and now sat in a very high orbit over Epsilon Eridani. So far, there was no indication that they'd been detected, and Julian took that as a hopeful sign. 

The other members of the away team, excepting Captain Picard, were already gathered near the transporter pads. All had been carefully selected by Picard and Worf, who had decided that the better course of valor in this situation was to infiltrate the station, and learn what they could there. Julian could just imagine Worf's reaction to that idea, which almost certainly originated with Captain Picard. In some ways, he sympathized with Worf, especially so when he looked down at the slightly frayed, worn civilian clothes he and the other members of the away team were wearing. The cloth was in several equally dull shades of brown, black, and grey, and it itched terribly. A small leather satchel at his side held an even smaller Starfleet med-kit, and a medical tricorder. With any luck, those wouldn't have to come out. 

Commander Data, back on Enterprise, had rather quickly determined that the station had been constructed, and was operated by, humans, even though they had not picked up any message traffic at all to confirm that, until the Defiant had gotten much closer. Some of the smaller shuttles in the area were marked with an emblem that combined the English letters "E" and "A", which Data calculated would be improbable for a non-human race to develop on its own. The hull composition of those shuttles were very similar to that of the station, and quite different from that of some of the more exoticly designed ships that hovered nearby. Additionally, when they had closed the distance, and were approaching the position where they now lay, only five thousand kilometers distant, Ezri had focused Defiant's sensors on a window at the fore of the station. That had gotten them a clear visual of what was obviously the station's command center, and the beings inside were unmistakably human. At that range, however, the point had become moot, when they finally began picking up short-range transmissions, that confirmed the station as human-operated, although it clearly served as a layover for both human and non-human vessels.

Julian had to admit to himself that the station was beautiful, more so than the spidery Cardassian design of Deep Space Nine. This station was as big as the massive spool of Spacedock, in orbit of Earth in his own dimension, at just over eight kilometers in length. It was composed of a gigantic blue paneled cylinder that rotated within the confines of a vast grey superstructure that ran across its top, suspending six pointed solar panels on each side. The front end of the cylinder tapered into a form reminiscent of the onion domes of ancient Middle Eastern architecture. It was a strangely appropriate shape for a place that was named Babylon 5, according to the communications traffic they'd intercepted.

Bashir started when he felt a hand on his arm. He'd been more deeply in thought than he'd realized. Ezri Dax sidled up to him, and gripped his arm reassuringly. For which of them it was meant to be more reassuring, he couldn't say.

"Ezri, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, you know," he said lightly.

She rolled her eyes at him, but grinned mischieviously. "What about last week in the Promenade, when you - "

"I was in complete control then," Bashir said defensively.

Ezri Dax's eyes sparkled with humor. "Julian, you had two broken ribs,"

"Three, actually."

She rolled her eyes again. "Three ribs then, and if I hadn't got you out of the way..."

Bashir grinned impishly. "So how was I supposed to know that Morn had a phobia of tribbles?"

"Phobia?" she snorted, "Julian, he hit you with a barstool and ran away screaming." She pursed her lips. "On second thought, that annoyed Quark, so maybe it was worth it after all," she said, laughing.

Her laugh was infectious, and Bashir found himself joining her, even though at the time, groaning painfully on the floor, he'd found the incident to be somewhat less amusing.

When Captain Picard, Worf, and Junior entered a moment later, Julian found that his own mood was so improved, that he contentedly threw his arm protectively around Ezri's shoulders. He knew the gesture was pointless – Ezri had some 400 years of memories and combat experiences hiding behind that smile he knew so well, including Jadzia's more Klingon attributes. But it was an instinctive movement, and Ezri snuggled into his side. 

Captain Picard projected an aura of leadership even wearing the scruffy civilian outfit that had seen better days, or rather, being replicated, merely looked as if it had. The chatter in the room died away, and everyone backed up against the walls, to give Picard some room. He said nothing for a moment, merely looking around at the other members of the away team, who were similarly attired, and at the heavily armed security people, who were on standby in case something went wrong. 

The away team selection had been a careful choice. A smaller team might have been safer, but it may not have been, either, so the team was diverse enough to learn as much as possible. Captain Picard himself, of course, although he was going under the guise of a free-lance archeologist named Galen. The way he easily adapted to having his junior officers call him that suggested that the identity was not new to him. Geordi LaForge and Data, who Julian had met before on the old Enterprise, an assistant engineer named Barclay, Counselor Troi, and himself, composed the rest of the team. Picard had had to chose the most human looking of his officers, and though the disguises were not perfect, they would have to suffice. Geordi would simply have to avoid allowing anyone a good look at his eyes, and Data's garb included a face-obscuring hood. Bashir thought he looked like a strange monk. 

For a moment, Picard looked as if he were about to impart some timeless wisdom, or something similarly impressive.

Instead, the captain turned to the young Q. "Junior, you said you had some last-minute advice for everyone?" Abruptly, Bashir noticed that Junior was still wearing his Starfleet uniform. Apparently the captain had decided not to bring him along, despite his knowledge of the place, for which Julian was perversely relieved.

The boy nodded. "I've been here before, so I know what I'm talking about," he began with a hint of challange in his voice. Julian realized again that for all his powers, Junior was still an insecure teenager. "We went over the highlights in the briefing, but remember, no weapons, not even knives, and don't act too much like tourists. The less attention you draw, the better."

He reached up, and pulled a pack of cards out of the air. He handed one to each member of the away team, and said, "These things are your indenticards. Don't lose 'em, you'll need them to get through security."

Bashir looked at his, and found the likeness of his image on the card to be unflattering. Ezri must guessed what he was thinking, and gently elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted sheepishly, wishing once again that she'd be coming along too, instead of staying on the Defiant running scans. He tucked his card into his satchel.

Picard stepped onto the transporter platform, and the others began to file on behind him. Julian quickly embraced Ezri, and caught her upturned lips with his.

A clearing throat, and then, "Doctor, are you planning on joining us sometime?"

Julian flushed red and bolted for the pad, leaving Ezri laughing behind him.

Picard smiled tolerantly, and glanced at the transporter operator. "Energize."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The woman sauntering slowly towards him was gorgeous, in a vague sort of way. The entire scene, with the beach, the surf, and bright blazing sun, was vague. But he didn't care. She leaned over him, thrusting an improbable bustline in his face, and he reached out...

Something chirped annoyingly. A whiny sort of 'bleep'. The woman vanished. The sea and the sun vanished.

Prying his eyes open, Michael Garibaldi decided that the the sound made by an active handlink was the most awful sound in the universe, and that the person responsible for such a travesty against deep sleeping security chiefs everywhere, should be tossed, bare-assed naked, into a room full of a angry Narns.

"God damn," he muttered, adding a few more pungent expressions he'd learned as a ground-pounder. Through sheer force of will, he reached over to the nightstand, and after patting around for a few moments, grabbed the source of his foul mood. "Patch it through, audio only," he said.

"Chief, we've got a situation in Brown 12." Garibaldi's second in command, Zack Allen, sounded perfectly wide awake, which only aggravated him more. He corrected himself, mentally. _That_ was the most awful sound in the universe.

"Zack," Garibaldi said gruffly, "it had better not be as early as I think it is."

A pregnant silence from the other end.

Garibaldi heaved a sigh. "Alright, what the hell is it?"

"Sorry, Chief, but we've got a disturbance down here, and I thought you'd better handle it."

"Ok, ok, I'm coming, I'm coming," he said, exasperated, as he buttoned up his shirt.

Ten minutes later, a very irate security chief turned a corner into a near-riot. Dozens of barflies and gamblers were scrambling around in a mad frenzy. Glass shattered almost continuously, and bodies flew through the air like rag-dolls in zero-G. Garibaldi waded into the thick of the fray, joining the other security troops who were valiently cordoning off the bar and rounding up the real troublemakers. 

Someone swung at limp fist at him, and Garibaldi was enveloped in a cloud of alcoholic breath, as the drunken brawler plowed into him. Garibaldi had no patience for that, and belted the offender so hard he heard an audible crack. Garibaldi shook his fist as the drunk hit the ground bonelessly. He'd enjoyed it.

Looking ahead through the mess, he spotted his senior lieutenant fending off a Drazi. He shouted, "Zack!" And winced a moment later when Zack's distraction allowed the Drazi to land a solid punch.

Shoving his way through several other fistfights, he grabbed the Drazi, and tossed him into the wall. "Zack," he said again, "what the hell started this?"

"Some religious nut," Zack Allan shouted over the din. "Started ranting that we were all doomed, or something like that." 

"How'd that start a riot?" Garibaldi asked increduously.

"It didn't. But the glass someone threw at him, and missed, did."

Garibaldi quirked his lips. "Ah." He looked around. "And where is this doomsayer friend of ours?"

Zack pointed into the opposite corner of the large room.

Garibaldi groaned. "I don't have time for this." The Drazi he'd dispatched before came charging back, with a wordless cry. Drawing his PPG with his right hand, Garibaldi socked the Drazi with a left roundhouse. This time the alien stayed down.

Zack's stood back, breathing hard, and flashed a lopsided grin. It didn't pay to take the Chief for granted.

Garibaldi's PPG whined, then spat several bolts of flaming red at the ceiling, where one of the light fixtures exploded. The brawl didn't immediately end, but it certainly slowed its tempo. Again, when as if on cure, a dozen of G'Kar's Narn peacekeepers plowed into the fray, led by a timely Lou Welch. What they lacked in subtlety, they more than made up for with sheer enthusiasm.

Within a few more moments, the fighting had been quashed completely, and Garibaldi's own human troops began restraining and hauling off the lot of them. But Garibaldi had already set off for the corner of the room Zack had pointed to. He had a bone to pick with that doomsayer who was directly responsible for his not being asleep in his bed where he belonged.

He found the robed Brakiri cowering under the corner table where he'd doubtless been preaching from. Next to him, there lay the remains of a glass that had hit something before reaching the wall behind the table. Garibaldi picked up one of the shards, and smelled it. _Bravari._ Tracing the trajectory of the glass with his eyes, he found himself surprised by his own utter lack of surprise.

Londo Mollari waved at him from his place at the bar, on the other side of the room. "Hello, Mr. Garibaldi!" Londo shouted cheerfully. "That was a magnificent spectacle, was it not?"

Garibaldi felt the beginnings of a first-rate headache forming behind his temples, and he glared daggers at the Brakiri. "You, come here," Garibaldi commanded.

The Brakiri made a sporting effort to sink through the deck.

Michael Garibaldi leaned over until their faces were a finger length apart, and stared right into the alien's eyes. "Unless you want to meet Doom on a first-name basis right this minute," he ground out, "come out here. _Now._"

The Brakiri came.

"Sorry about all that, Chief," Zack said contritely, as the two of them got into the lift at the end of the hall. "I wasn't gonna wake you, but it got pretty out of hand."

Garibaldi shrugged, and blinked tiredly. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, he was dragging his feet wearily. "No problem," he said in a tone that suggested it had been a problem. "But do me a favor, will you? Next time, before you wake me up, trying shooting them first, only wake me up if that doesn't work." He stared resolutely at the closed lift doors.

Zack laughed. "I'll try to remember that."

They passed the next few minutes in companionable silence, until the lift computer dinged, and the doors slid open on the regular hustle and bustle of the of the Zocalo. It was far less crowded than usual, due to the early hour, but there was traffic enough to have to part around the imposing security chief.

Garibaldi strode out through the lift doors, and wormed his way through the mob, just barely sidestepping a rushing Centauri, and avoiding disaster. Zack had to almost jog to keep up with Garibaldi's swift pace down the main corridor, but something drew his eye, and he wandered off towards a Drazi who was vending something that looked vaguely not entirely unlike a sandwhich.

Garibaldi paused when he realized he had lost his shadow, and backtracking, found Zack paying for one of the strange concoctions. "What's that thing?" he asked, keeping a wary eye on his second's food, in case it made any sudden moves.

Zack held the sandwhich up with one hand, while stifling a yawn with the other. "I don't know, but it smells good." He saw the Chief's wary eye, and explained, "I had the graveyard shift last night, remember Chief? I just needed to grab something to eat, and now," he yawned again, "I'm off to get some shuteye."

Garibaldi sighed mournfully at the mention of sleep, which garnered another grin from Zack. "Oh, get out of my sight, you," Garibaldi mumbled.

Zack Allen chuckled, and taking a bite of his "sandwich" with every sign of relish, walked off towards another lift.

An hour later, after a brief stop back in his quarters for a much needed shower, shave, and a cup of the lukewarm slop that the commissary jokingly called coffee, Garibaldi felt somewhat human again.

When he stepped into the security booth overlooking the main docking terminal, the guard on duty glanced up nonchalantly from where he was lounging with his feet propped up on the console. "Mornin' Chief." 

"That depends on your definition of 'morning', Jason," Garibaldi replied, drawing a bark of laughter from the guard. "So what've we got?"

The guard shook his head. "Not much." He punched a button on the panel in front of him, and looked at the screen. "Looks like one Vree transport, a Brakiri refugee ship, a couple of traders." He shrugged. "Nothing exciting."

"That would be nice for a change." Garibaldi said wearily. "So I don't buy it. Something strange or bad always happens when I start thinking about how quiet it is."

The guard laughed again, and Garibaldi smiled slightly. Maybe some devine being had decided that today, nothing else would go wrong. He found himself crossing his finger, hoping that was the case.

"Now that's odd," the guard suddenly said, pointing through the glass.

"So much for my ever joining the clergy," Garibaldi muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, nothing. What's odd?"

"Those guys there," the guard said, pointing to a group of new arrivals.

Garibaldi watched as six figures walked into the arrival gateway, slowly, cautiously. Five of them were definately human – the bald man with the Romanesque features, who walked confidently in the lead of the others, radiated authority on a nearly visible spectrum. 

Garibaldi made a mental note to watch this one. He was clearly used to being obeyed, and in Garibaldi's experience, people like that were rare, and that made them dangerous. John Sheridan was the only other on the station he could think of who projected leadership like that.

The others were less imposing, but no less interesting for that. As he watched, they came through the checkpoint one at a time, first a dark-haired woman with exotic features. She turned to look at him, her gaze seeming to bore through the glass, even though from the other side, there was no indication of the security booth. He shivered slightly under that penetrating stare, but just as quickly, she turned away, and made room for the next two. The first looked around, not in awe, but the expression suggested one phrase to Garibaldi's mind – kid in a candy shop. The second was a gangly man who was also looking around intently. So intently, he stumbled and nearly fell, until the first man reached out and steadied him. In that moment, like the woman, he stared right through the glass pane with cobalt blue eyes that stood out in contrast with his dark skin.

The next one in, Garibaldi couldn't figure out, as his hood covered his entire head, and his sleeves drooped enough to conceal his hands. That automatically aroused suspicion in the security chief, but concealing clothing wasn't a crime, as much as Garibaldi sometimes wished it were. As it was, the cloth-wrapped figure strode through the gateway without hesitation.

"Maybe a little weird, but what's so odd about it?" Garibaldi asked.

The guard looked up at him. "Chief, the two human trading ships in there are too small for a crew that size, and the Brakiri ship already offloaded their wounded." His eyebrows converged. "You don't think the Vree would...?" He left the last part of that unsaid.

Garibaldi frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know, Jason, that is strange."

The last in the lineup appeared to be the most normal. A slender, brown-haired man who gave his surroundings only a quick glance before following his fellows. Naturally, after the other characters had passed without incident, he was the one who set off the sensors.

"Chief," the guard said unecessarily, "he's got something in that case he's carrying."

"Weapons?"

The guard bit his lip. "I don't know, I've never seen readings like these before."

"I'm on it," Garibaldi said, before the response was even out. Two other guards along the back wall, veterans of such encounters, closed with him, and took up firing positions. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but with a quarter million people to protect, one didn't take chances.

"Hold it!"

The strange group of new arrivals stopped, but drew up behind the bald man, confirming Garibaldi's suspicions. 

The leader scowled. "I demand to know the meaning of this!"

PPGs whined in the hands of the guards covering the security chief, and he saw the bald man's gaze flash with comprehension, and a touch of anxiety. 

He ignored that for the moment, and pointed to the man in the back of the others. "You," Garibaldi pointed, "I'm sorry," he said diplomatically – although he was neither sorry nor a diplomat – "we'll need to inspect your pack."

The offender paled, but pushed past his comrades, and made to hand over the satchel, glancing nervously over at the leader for confirmation. When he got a nod, he swallowed hard, but passed it over.

Garibaldi stepped back with it, and after fumbling with the catch, pulled it open, and peered inside. Several metallic objects he could not identify, nondescript cylinders, a hinged box that looked like some kind of psuedo-plastic, and a series of liquid-filled tubes, clinked at the bottom. "Well, well, what have we got here?" Garibaldi whistled, and reached inside. His hand closed on several of the cylinders and vials, and he pulled the fistfull out into the light...

*****

Julian Bashir was sweating bullets as he handed over his satchel. It hadn't occurred to him that his medical tools might be picked up on weapons scanners – and why should it have? He glanced over at the others. Picard looked like a statue with his arms folded across his chest, and a stern gaze, which Bashir was grateful was not turned on him. Barclay looked like he was going to be violently ill, and Counselor Troi's eyes were wide as she picked up on the emotions of the others in the room, particularly the burly security officer who was even now rummaging in Bashir's satchel.

The officer, who oddly wore a black and grey uniform that set him apart from all the other security guards present, grunted in satisfaction as he peered into the bag. Reaching in, he seized on something.

Bashir's mind raced, trying to think up excuses and explanations, while Picard could have been sculpted in stone for all he reacted.

"I..." the security officer began, then faltered, staring wordlessly at his own hand, which was not clutching a series of 24th century medical devices, but rather a handful of... silverware? He cursed, and unclenched his fist, sending spoons and forks, but no knives, clattering to the deck. 

Picard blinked a few times, absorbing this turn of events with studied composure, but didn't speak. Bashir's own jaw had nearly hit the floor. Reg Barclay suffered a sudden coughing fit.

Several of the other guards looked on the verge of hysterics, and a muscle in the officer's face twitched alarmingly. Doctor Julian Bashir was positive there'd have been steam pouring from his ears if biology allowed it.

Without a word, the officer upended the entire satchel, and was rewarded with a flashing shower of soup spoons, fondue forks, apple peelers, and every other utensil known to man, and some not. There was muffled laughter from behind him, and when he looked over his shoulder, the other guards quickly found more interesting things to look at on the ceiling, the floor, or just about anywhere else.

"Sorry about the mess." The officer bit each word off, and tossing the empty satchel back to Bashir, turned away, then stopped, turned back, and said, "Oh." He looked pointedly at Barclay, and flicked something that glinted gold through the air at the stricken engineer. "You dropped this."

Barclay fumbled the object almost comically, but managed to hold on to it. Looking down, he saw it was his comm-badge. By the look on Picard's face, Bashir could tell he'd seen that as well.

"Th-Th-Thanks," Barclay stammered, pocketing the chevron pin.

The officer cocked his head, and voice suddenly calm, asked, "What is it?"

"It's a religious icon," Picard lied evenly. 

The officer glared at him, then started to turn away again, until a new voice cut in on the tense little scene.

"Hey, Galen, long time no see!"

Bashir tried to muffle a cough, sputtered, and managed a strangled croak. He quickly bent to the task of scooping the silverware back into his satchel, partially to avoid being part of the thunderous explosion he was sure Picard was building up, and partially to avoid having the captain spot his wry grin. 

To his surprise, Julian didn't hear any apocalypse, and after putting the last of the forks into his bag, stood up.

"Junior," Garibaldi muttered. "_You're _the one vouching for them?" he asked, his voice dripping scorn. "I'll have my eye on all of you," he warned.

Picard studied the scene with a calculating regard while Junior simply planted an innocent look on his face, and turned away from Garibaldi.

"Oh, come now, Galen," Junior said jovially, "surely you remember your old pal."

It was Picard's turn to suffer a sudden facial tic, but his eyes flicked to the grim-faced security officer, who had stopped walking, and was watching the exchange. To the captain's credit, he only paused for a brief second, before picking up on the charade. "Oh, of course not. It's good to see you again..."

Junior grinned amiably, cheerfully choosing to ignore Picard's pointed glare. "It's been a couple of years, Galen, and I wanted to talk to you about some Ikarran artifacts I heard about that came through here not long ago..." 

Even as Junior was talking, the security officer stepped into Picard's path. "Oh, before I forget," he said, his voice hitting a dangerously quiet tone, "Don't lie to me. I hate that." Without another word, he stalked off.

Picard's eyes narrowed, but he could hardly deny the charge.

Junior's tour-guide smile faltered, but he started up his senseless chatter again, sensing that the critical moment had passed, all the while walking deeper into the station, the Starfleet people in tow.

The moment they were out of earshot, Picard rounded on the godling. "Junior, I gave you a direct order, to remain on the Defiant."

To Julian's surprise, from what he knew of the regular Q, instead of blowing up, Junior actually looked abashed.

"I know, I know," he replied guiltily, "I forgot about how tight their security is for regular travel. I can pop in and out whenever I want, so it didn't even occurr to me that you might have trouble getting through, until it was almost too late. You should be glad I didn't leave you to Chief Garibaldi's gentle ministrations." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and scowled in frustration. "I don't understand why I didn't think of everything, though," he said anxiously. "I may not be as omniscient as Dad yet, but I definately should have seen that coming." 

With a sneaking suspicion, Julian flipped open his satchel, and found his medical equipment sitting sedately at the bottom, and no sign of any silverware. He should have guessed.

Picard sighed and shook his head. "I do appreciate that, Junior, but that isn't the point. I am in command here, and when I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Junior muttered dejectedly. His eyes lit up almost immediately though, as if nothing had ever been amiss. "Oh, that reminds me, I already rented two rooms in Brown Sector for you all."

"Brown Sector?"

Junior waved his hand airly. "I'll take you there, you can figure out the rest before things get crowded... you know it's still early morning here." He started off through the thickening crush of humans, and unidentifiable aliens, so he missed seeing Picard's jaw drop at the boy's very unQ-like sense of responsibility.

Bashir jogged up alongside the young Q, with the intention of striking up a friendly conversation, but quickly found himself gawking at the various creatures wandering around under the hard blue glare of a sign that read "Welcome to Babylon 5." He would liked to have seen more, but much too quickly, Junior ushered them into an elevator, promising that once they'd settled in, he'd show them around.

As the lift doors closed on them, Picard looked over at the quivering assistent engineer. "Mr. Barclay, I suggest you find someplace more secure to put your comm-badge."

Barclay quailed before the captain's hooded gaze, but nodded jerkily. "Y-Yes, sir, Cap... uh, G-G-Galen."

Bashir found himself wondering exactly why the captain had chosen to bring the panic-stricken engineer along on this trip, but Counselor Troi gazed at Reg understandingly, sympathy on her face.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Silence reigned supreme on the bridge of the Defiant.

Not in the strictest sense, of course – consoles beeped and whirred, the throbbing of her oversized warp-core pulsed through the ship like the heartbeat of a slumbering dragon, and the command chair squeaked on its mount under the weight of the big Klingon sitting there, whenever he moved.

But those small noises were swallowed whole by the brooding quiet that simply radiated from Worf. 

From her position at the science console behind the command area, Ezri Dax could see most of the bridge at once, whenever she looked up from her sensor screens. She'd been doing that much more often in the last few hours, which could have provided the definition for boredom. She reflected that it was probably for the best that Nog was not currently on watch – the thick atmosphere would drive the young Ferengi nuts, and to compensate, he's surely do something that would end up annoying Worf.

The initial sensor scans had been interesting to say the least, but she'd finished those hours ago, and was now running the same ones over and over again for lack of anything better to do. Honestly, the work bored Ezri to tears – she was a trained counselor, not a physicist. She squashed an irrational feeling of resentment for Dax when her mind turned in that direction; the symbiont was certainly interested, at any rate.

To be fair, the initial findings had been fascinating, even to her. The station, Babylon 5, possessed a sleek beauty that she missed in Deep Space Nine's gothic Cardassian design. It rotated, and as far as she could tell, that was the only method of gravity generation it used. It might have been easy to pass it off as a lower level of technology in general, but it was using tachyon-based sensors, which had given Commander LaForge some trouble at first. Defiant's cloak was so far undetected, but Geordi had cautioned Worf that if the station and the ships suspected anything, and coordinated their sensors, the resulting network would illuminate Defiant as surely as if they went and detonated a quantum torpedo outside the hull.

With that cheerful thought in mind, closer inspection of the station revealed that the core of the main cylinder was empty, and Ezri speculated that it behaved like an O'Neill habitat, with the interior behaving like the surface of a planet designed by M.C. Escher. Julian had promised to try and find out first-hand for her, but they hadn't recieved any communications from the away team at all for the past four hours – which was only a short while after they had gone in. And that just to arrange the beam in of some of the equipment they hadn't wanted to chance smuggling past customs. At that thought, a small knot of worry formed in Ezri's gut, which she couldn't quite convince herself was needless.

She shook her head, and focused back on the screens and readouts in front of her. The station itself was only part of the puzzle. It was surrounded at very close range by seven vessels that were clearly of the warship variety, and oddly enough, it seemed that none of them were of human manufacture, and none resembled anything she knew of from the Alpha Quadrant. They way they cruised along clearly defined flight paths suggested that they were defending the station. But from what? 

A pair of blue ones had captured her attention, their shape and tandem movements reminding her of nothing so much as Terran angelfish. She couldn't begin to guess what sort of creatures built ships like that, and for some strange reason, her sensors refused to focus on them – not jammed exactly, but as if the scans were being refracted around their hulls. She could, however, pick up enough to see that they had no visible engines, although the graviton emissions from their fins bothered her. Gravitic drives? If that was the case, whoever built those ships knew some more about gravitation than Federation science, and they sure weren't sharing it with the humans running that station.

The other ships were slightly more conventional, even if they followed design plans she'd never seen before. Two were saucers that glittered blue-green as they spun, and they could have been pulled right from the cover of the 20th century pulp comic Benjamin had shown Curzon once. Some of the others looked like bulbous fighters, while still others were a slick grey color, but followed lines that looked like Picasso run amok. Altogether a strange collection.

Aside from those ships, other smaller ones, including some that were definately human, were passing in and out of a major internal flight bay of some kind, located at the station's fore end. Several thousand kilometers distant, four parallel beams, studded with solar panels, orbited the planet. Ezri still hadn't figured out what they were, and even though there was no cargo there at the moment, Worf had suggested it was a depot of some kind. She disagreed; the amount of energy she detected coursing through those girders seemed positively excessive for a cargo loading area.

The planet bothered her the most though. Ezri called up another detailed image of it, and shuddered slightly. For what had to be the fifteenth time, she brought up an image of the same planet from Vulcan system records. After discovering that Vulcan itself was barren of life in this universe, it should have been no surprise to discover other planetary-scale differences, but the vast changes between Epsilon Eridani III in each reality tugged at her unconcious mind. In her own universe, the third planet in the Vulcan system was also barren of life, except for Vulcan colonies, of course, but it looked like any other frozen rock out there, with vast polar caps, thick layers of carbon dioxide permafrost, and a roughly cratered surface. But the planet they were orbiting was very different. Oh, it was still a frozen rock, but the surface was etched with vast chasms, and the entire planet looked like someone had gone over it with a dull chainsaw. Such a thing was not unheard of, of course, but according to the small amount of data her sensors could gather, the damage looked very recent – on the order of a mere millenium.

But that initial observation was what had drawn her attention to the second, and most disturbing, property of this world. That was _all_ her sensors could pick up. Granted, Defiant was a warship, not a science vessel, but even so, under normal circumstances, her sensor suite should have been able to pick up a single biosign or thermal source anywhere on, or to some degree, below, the surface. Instead, she had trouble just getting readings on the composition of the polar ice. Anything more detailed than that, and the scans simply stopped, as if something was absorbing them. 

There were some forms of matter and energy exotic enough to block sensor sweeps, but nothing on such a scale, so completely sensor proof. She had told the computer to run a high resolution visual sweep of the planet looking for anything artificial, but that would take another few hours to complete. 

Ezri bit her lip, trying to decide whether or not to tell Worf, or wait until she had firm evidence one way or the other. He'd almost certainly assume the worst, prelude to attack, or a secret base of some kind. And if the visual scan revealed nothing, she'd have wasted his time. As it was, she got the feeling that he still barely tolerated her – despite his assurances to the contrary, she was positive that he could not yet reconcile her with his wife's memory. Since she literally possessed Jadzia's memories, the strain on both of them was telling.

To top off the grim mood on the bridge, almost immediately after the away team had gone over to investigate Babylon 5, Junior had vanished, ostensibly to join the team uninvited. Worf had been powerless to stop the young god, and had taken it as a personal failure.

Hence the pervasive gloom and silence within the confines of the Defiant's otherwise cheerily-lit command center. The contrast was not lost on Ezri, but she didn't know quite how to approach the man she had many fond memories of, because even though she had Jadzia's memories, she wasn't Jadzia, any more than she was Curzon, or Joran, or any of the others Dax had resided within over the past four hundred years. Ezri found herself, not for the first time, wishing that Julian hadn't gone with Captain Picard. His annoying, perpetually cheerful presence always seemed to offset the Klingon.

At the rear of the bridge, the aft turbolift doors swished open, depositing the only Ferengi in Starfleet head-first into the dour atmosphere on the bridge. Nog looked like he'd actually hit something tangible, and his usual grin dried up instantly.

Making his way towards the helm console, he said, "Reporting for duty, sir."

The words were like a gunshot in the silence, and only then did Ezri realize that no one had spoken a word on the bridge for the past few hours.

Worf glowered, and merely nodded to the helm console, where Ensign Vernon was standing up and stretching. Nog took the vacated seat, and the human vanished back into the turbolift, which hissed closed.

The dread silence returned in force.

Ezri had been so busy watchning the little interplay, that she almost missed seeing one light on her panel begin to flicker. She frowned, checked the readings, felt her jaw drop, and turned to the Klingon, all thoughts of Julian, and bad moods, and Jadzia, instantly banished from her mind.

"Worf, I'm reading a major energy spike in that cargo depot!" Seeing his puzzled glance, she tried to think of something useful, but instead, threw up her hands. "I guess it wasn't actually a cargo yard."

Worf actually looked amused. "That much is clear. Onscreen."

The main viewscreen, which had been showing them a visual on Babylon 5, blinked and resolved into a view of the four symmetrical parallel girders they had since ignored. 

Lights along the girders winked on, and Ezri gaped at the readings on her screens. Dax's memories and knowledge suddenly seemed to flow through her, and the instrument panels resolved themselves into something comprehensible. She sucked in a breath. "Those girders are generating some sort of –"

On the screen, the winking lights suddenly raced down to the opposite ends of the stucture, and the screen dimmed slightly to compensate for a blast of light. A swirling blue vortex blazed open, filling the space between the four rods, and from deep within it, a speck raced forwards, instantly revealing itself as a ship of similar design to some of the smaller cargo ships lined up in near proximity to Babylon 5. The vortex collapsed on itself, and vanished in a second sunburst flare. The entire event had taken no more than a few seconds.

"– spatial anomaly," Ezri finished unecessarily.

Nog gaped at the screen, momentarily forgetting the somber gloom that had filled the bridge a second before. "It looked like a wormhole!" he exclaimed.

As his words sunk into Ezri's awareness, they seemed to fall into place. All the other bits and pieces coalesced in her mind, and everything suddenly seemed to make sense. "Of course!" she blurted out, drawing looks from Nog and Worf. Noticing their gazes, she gestured toward the four rails that were still centered in the viewscreen. "That's why we didn't pick up any warp signatures coming in-system! They don't use warp drives or subspace at all!"

Worf scowled, and asked with a glance at the Ferengi helmsman, "Then they use a wormhole drive?"

Ezri shook her head emphatically. "No, it just looks like one. But if it were a wormhole, I should have been able to get sensor readings of the other end," she said firmly. "Instead, all I could pick up was gravimetric currents, and immense background radiation. I think that's another dimension in there!"

Nog shuddered dramatically. "Another dimension? Don't we have enough problems with _this_ one?"

"Not like that," Ezri replied, "I think it's some kind of subdomain, like subspace, but... different."

Worf grunted. "If they have individual ships capable of generating such a rift, that would pose us a significant tactical challange. Contact the captain."

_"... following President Clark's declaration of martial law. Babylon 5 joined with Proxima III and the renegade forces of General William Hague of the Joint Chiefs, in seceeding from the Earth Alliance, when Earth Alliance forces were dispatched to seize control of Babylon 5, and arrest its senior officers on charges of treason. Hague's flagship, commanded by Major Ryan, Hague's successor after the General was killed, EAS Alexander and a sister ship, the EAS Churchill, defended Babylon 5. The ensuing engagement resulted in the destruction of three destroyers, including the Churchill. The second wave of Earth Alliance starships were driven off by the timely arrival of Ambassador Delenn and three Minbari warcruisers, who took Babylon 5 under their protection. Since that time, a mutual defense pact was signed by Captain John Sheridan and many of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds, who each agreed to the provision of two destroyer-class vessels to the defense of Babylon 5. Furthermore, there would be -"_

"Screen off."

Picard leaned back from the wall-mounted video screen, and felt something crack in his lower back. He and Data had spent the past four hours in their shared room trying to figure out where the timelines diverged, and catching up on more recent events.

A lump had formed in his throat when the screen had switched to the battle footage. It wasn't as bad as when he had recovered enough to understand what had happened at Wolf 359, but it was still painful to watch those ships and their crews die. In particular, the sacrifice of Captain Hiroshi and her crew. He glanced over at his friend, who had been studiously recording the entire historical narrative on a tricorder he had beamed over from Defiant after they'd taken their rooms.

"Well, Data, what do you make of it?"

The android turned away from the wall screen, which had returned to a Babylon 5 logo, and seemed to ponder the question for a moment. "This evidence would seem to corroberate my earlier hypothesis, that the actual divergence point for this reality occurred millions, likely billions, of years ago. That humanity is the only race we are familiar with that has evolved here is surprising, but not impossible." He paused, then continued, "The history of Earth appears to be identical to that of our own reality, up until the 20th century. There was no Eugenics war here."

Picard nodded understandingly. "So there was no rise of Colonel Green, and no post-atomic horror here, and as a result, no first contact with the Vulcans, who don't even exist."

"Exactly, sir," Data replied. "When the Centauri made contact with an intact Earth, and gave them hyperspace technology, there was never a catalyst to develop subspace technology. The intervening years have been shaped primarily by contact with races that do not exist in our universe, hence the immediate divergence."

A whistle began to shriek from a corner of the room where a small kitchen was located. Picard stood, and stretching slightly, walked over to the boiling kettle on the small hotplate provided with the otherwise sparsly furnished room. Picard chuckled to himself as he filled his mug, and added one of the small cubes of dessicated Early Grey he'd brought along. "I think we begin to take replicators for granted," he commented humorously.

Data simply watched in silence, but Picard thought he could see a glint of genuine amusement in the android's eyes.

"Anyway," Picard said, with a wry smile, "I can see how contact with races as... interesting as the Centauri, the Narn, and the Drazi could affect humanity's development. I certainly can't recall any races that fight for dominance over green and purple sashes. Although they'd no doubt find beings like the Cardassians, the Tholians, and the Klingons, just as strange." He took a sip from the mug, and winced slightly – it was just this side of scalding. "But the Minbari are simply fascinating. There isn't much information on them in these records, but what is here suggests a philosophy not unlike our own."

Data nodded gravely. "Indeed, though with a greater theological base. According to this Earth Alliance database, their society is divided into three distinct castes, and are governed by three of each caste, in an assembly called the Grey Council. Their religious faction appears to be devoted to peace, and a sense of universal harmony, not unlike the teachings of Buddhism."

Setting the mug down on the table in front of him, Picard sat back down on the couch facing Data, and stared into his tea. "So the question," Picard mused, "becomes _why?_ Why such fierce retaliation for what in retrospect, was merely a first contact gone badly?" He looked back up at Data. "Granted, some retaliation for the damage inflicted on their vessel could be understood, but to wage a nearly genocidal war?"

"I do not understand either, Captain," Data responded, "but I am not as much surprised by the sheer determination of their revenge, as by their surrender to an inferior foe just before their victory was complete."

Picard nodded in agreement. "Quite so, Data." He was about to say more, when his comm-badge suddenly chirped from deep within the pocket where he'd secreted it.

The badge chirped again when he tapped it. "Picard here."

Worf's rumbling bass carried clearly across the tiny speakers in the device. "Sir, we have just observed some sort of controlled wormhole effect deposit a vessel outside the station."

Picard shared a knowing look with Data before responding. "Understood, Mr. Worf. We've been doing what research we can from over here. That wormhole effect, did it appear inside that framework we thought was a cargo depot?"

Worf's voice betrayed an edge of surprise, when he answered, "Yes, Captain."

"That wormhole, as you called it, is what these people call a 'jumpgate'. It allows their ships to enter a dimensional plane called 'hyperspace.' That is their method of faster-than-light travel."

"I understand, Captain," Worf said with a hint of respect. "Instructions?"

Picard smile slightly, finding it easy to picture his old tactical officer at the conn of that bulldog starship. "Maintain station-keeping for now. Geordi and the others are out exploring the station, seeing what they can pick up first-hand. The moment he returns, he'll beam back to the Defiant, and brief you on everything we've picked up so far."

"Yes sir," Worf replied instantly.

"We don't think these people have any subspace technology, but to be on the safe side, we'll break contact until that time, to minimize comm-chatter," Picard finished.

Worf grunted approvingly. "Understood sir, Defiant out."

Picard slipped the comm-badge back into his pocket, and looking back up to his companion, found Data staring intently at the wall-screen. Intrigued, the captain watched his second officer study the panel for several moments in silence.

"Penny for your thoughts, Data."

Data's eyes snapped back to Picard, and his expression resolved into one of confusion. "I beg your pardon sir?"

Picard found himself fighting another smile, as he waved off the android's question. "Never mind, Data. I couldn't help noticing that you appeared to be somewhat... preoccupied."

The confusion vanished from Data's face, and he blinked. "Ah. I was considering this console, Captain. This computer appears to be linked to other station systems. If I tapped in with my tricorder, I could potentially access information we are not privy to at the moment."

Picard weighed the options in his mind. "Can you do it without being detected?"

In reply, Data carefully reached out to the wall screen, and felt around the lip of the mounting. His fingers applied pressure to it precisely, and with a loud snap, the casing slid off the wall. Data placed the frame on the floor next to him, and stared into the small recess beneath the screen that was now visible. Cables and wires could be seen crisscrossing behind the wall, and Picard watched with interest while Data scanned the cords with his tricorder.

After a moment, Data glanced up at the captain. "Some of these appear to be fiberoptic cables. I should be able to tap into them without disturbing the data flow."

Picard took a deep sip of his tea, which was rapidly cooling. Their entire mission was to get as much information as possible, so that when the time came where action was required, he would know what decision to make. This entire reality could depend on it. "Very well, Mr. Data, proceed."

Data nodded. "Yes sir." He began running scans of the data cables with the whirring tricorder. When it beeped at him, he selected one thick cable, and pressed the glowing sensor panel of the tricorder to it. On the wall screen above him, the Babylon 5 logo vanished, and was replaced with a static fuzz, and an audible hissing. Data reached reached into the access panel with his other hand, then paused.

Several things happened at once in the next few seconds. Data cocked his head, and looked pointedly at the heavy door that led into the corridor beyond. He started to say something, maybe shout a warning. Picard swung around instinctively even as the door swung open into the wall with a hydraulic groan. Data leaped to his feet, Picard stood as he turned, and several PPG's whined. Through the open doorway poured several humans, all clad in some kind of black body-armor, and wielding stubby weapons that had made the distinctive whine. 

The tableau was frozen for a second, then a voice bellowed, "Freeze! Put your hands above your head, now!"

Picard realized that his left hand was very near the pocket where his comm-badge was sitting. One signal to the Defiant, and they'd be safely transported away. His hand inched slowly towards the pocket.

A crimson bolt plowed into the table behind Picard, sending the mug of tea flipping to the ground, its contents splasing across the carpet. "I said hands up!" the voice shouted again.

Picard swallowed hard, and raised his hands over his head. Behind him, Data mimicked his action.

Another man stepped through the doorway, and studied the scene with something close to grim amusement. Picard recognized the hard-faced security chief who'd they'd had a run-in with when they had first come aboard. Apparently, the recognition was more than mutual.

Garibaldi grinned wolfishly, and shot a look over at the open access panel under the wall screen. "Fake identicard, tapping into the network, and destruction of station property. Those are big no-no's, Mr. Galen."

Picard shared a grim look with Data. Neither of them had had time to warn the others.

"Now, Galen – or whatever your real name is," Garibaldi said, "we're going to find out who you people really are, where you really come from, and what you think you're doing here." He glanced over at one of the other guards and ordered, "Lou, get these two down to lockup."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

"Michael, what are these things?"

Captain John Sheridan stared warily at the strange pile of contraband his security chief had just dumped on his desk. The three small chevron-shaped badges, he could see as communications devices, not too dissimilar to his own handlink, once Garibaldi pointed that feature out. But there was a boxy object made out of some material he couldn't identify, and small lights on it blinked steadily. One side had a prominant hinge, and it was easy enough to flip the device open. Several dozen small buttons and lights stared back at him, interupted only by a tiny video screen.

Garibaldi pointed at it, and clarified, "I think that one's some kind of hand-held scanner. Damndest one I've ever seen though."

A ratty leather satchel sat to one side, next to a pile of strange objects, including another one of the hand-held sensors. The small cylinders were unidentifiable, and several small tubes contained various colored liquids with no sign of a label.

Sheridan put one of the cylinders back down, and glared at the other man. "Where'd you get these things from?" 

"Oh, you're gonna love this," Garibaldi said wryly. He walked over to the wall-screen behind the captain's desk, and said, "Give me a view of cells five and six."

The Babcom logo on the screen was replaced by split-screen interior camera views of the station's brig. In one cell sat a bald human man with stern features. He was simply sitting in the chair at the center of the cell, unmoving. In the second cell sat a being who looked completely human – if one overlooked the golden eyes and bloodless skin color.

Garibaldi nodded at the two figures. "They came through customs this morning. Our weapon sensors picked up something that wasn't there, and a full diagnostic showed that our sensors are fine." He pointed at the bald man. "That one there came in with an identicard that labeled him as 'Galen', no last name. The other was listed simply as 'Mr. Data.'"

"Data? That's an... unusual name," Sheridan allowed, perplexed.

"Unusual nothing, hell, it's unheard of! I ran both names through the databanks, and got nothing on either of them. Same for the other four." Garibaldi scowled fiercely. "I don't like this, John, they're up to something. I've never seen equipment like this," he finished, pointing at the devices on the desk.

Sheridan grunted. "Something covert from back home, do you think? Bureau 13, maybe?"

Garibaldi shook his head firmly. "I don't think so. These guys were pretty sloppy, not your usual secret agent types. Besides, we traced their computer use before we nailed them in the middle of taking their Babcom terminal apart. You know any spies that spend four hours watching the history files?"

Sheridan shook his head slowly. "What about the other four you mentioned?"

"I've got people tracking them down right now," Garibaldi replied. "If the first two are any indication, it should be – what the hell?"

Belatedly, Sheridan noticed his Chief of security staring at the monitors. Following Garibaldi's gaze, he noticed the same thing almost immediately. The bald man was talking to himself.

"Computer, activate audio in cell five," Garibaldi snapped crisply.

"... would be inadvisable, right now." The man continued, clearly picking his words carefully. "Remember what we discussed earlier." He fell silent then, and went back to staring at the wall.

"Oh, this is good," Garibaldi muttered, "he's got an invisible friend." By way of explanation, he qualified, "We searched them for communications devices of any kind pretty thoroughly. The white one was carrying an extra one of these pins, but that's it. I knew these guys were up to something. They were met in customs by Junior."

Sheridan flinched slightly at that. He remembered the glimpse he'd gotten of Morden's 'invisible friends' all too well. "Computer, adjust visual image through the non-visible spectrum." The Shadows had become briefly visible under infrared light. No such luck here though, and despite the electromagnetic contortions the screen went through, the man remained alone. He turned halfway, inclining his head to look at his chief. "Who's this guy who picked them up?"

Garibaldi shrugged expressively. "Small time racketeer. He sometimes turns up in downbelow when Duece is involved. I haven't seen him in a couple of years, but I can't find any record of his leaving or coming back."

Sitting back down at his desk, Sheridan poked at the objects there. "Michael, bring that one -Galen, was it? – up here. I want to talk to him myself."

"I don't think that's a good idea, John," Garibaldi warned, concerned.

Sheridan shook his head. "I can handle him if I have to. If he's a nut, fine, toss him back in that cell. But," he paused, "I don't think he is. Call it a hunch."

Garibaldi frowned. "Alright, if you say so. But be careful, Captain." With that, he turned, and strode through the door, without waiting for a response.

*****

"And there we were, descending upon them with a veritable _cloud_ of starships!"

Julian Bashir stared at his companion, disbelief etched on his face. "Oh, come now, Ambassador, I don't think -"

"Please, please, we are all friends here, yes? Call me Londo." The grinning Centauri took another gulp from the green concoction in his glass. His fourth glass, actually. "And yes, it was a _cloud_ of ships, I tell you."

"Right... Londo," said Bashir, in a jaundiced tone. He hefted his third dart, and balanced it in his hand. Lifting it to his eye, he sighted down its length at the board a few paces away. _Thunk._ Triple twenty.

Ambassador Londo Mollari waved a little unsteadily. "Bah." He took his last dart, and hurled it with astonishing force – and missed.

Bashir winced as the dart ricocheted off the metal wall, and flipped off in a random direction into the press of the crowd behind them. Someone yelped.

"This is a fascinating sport, Mr. Bashir," Londo continued, his dart's errant course evidentally having escaped his notice. "I have noted your obvious skill, however, and I," he said, pressing his hands to his chest disarmingly, "having never played, am at something of a disadvantage here."

Julian fought a triumphant grin. "You take note of that now, after I've already won fifty credits from you?" He reached over, and picked up the napkin where he'd been keeping score. He was in the process of checking off the twenties in his column, when he noticed something amiss. "Londo, when exactly did you get a triple bullseye?"

The richly-dressed, and slightly drunk Centauri took that moment to drain off the last of his drink. When he put the empty glass down, he shrugged sheepishly. "Well, perhaps I made a minor mistake or two with keeping score..." He glanced past Bashir's head, and a wide smile split his features at the sight of something to take the human's attention off of his creative scorekeeping. "Ah, Mr. Lennier, my friend!"

The slim, and distinctly uncomfortable, Minbari approached them solemnly. "Ambassador, Delenn has asked me to inform you that you are now two hours late for the independant merchants' discussion. She would appreciate your attendance at your earliest possible... convienience."

"Oh? Was that today?" Londo asked with such transparent innocence that Bashir had to stifle a guffaw. "I'm certain that Vir must have misfiled the notice. I'll be there momentarily. But first," he said, face lighting up, "I would like you to meet my new friend, Mr. Bashir." He threw his arm around Julian's shoulders, and dragged him over.

"Mr. Bashir," Lennier steepled his hands, and bowed perfunctorially.

"Uh, likewise."

The Minbari turned back to Mollari. "If you please, Ambassador."

Londo clapped his other hand around Lennier's shoulders, and said, "Oh, come now, Mr. Lennier, perhaps one small and very quick game of poker?"

The Minbari shrugged off Mollari's arm with a deftness Bashir envied. "Not now, Ambassador. Even if the management would permit us both into the same game after the last time, this matter is more urgent."

Julian decided that Londo's grimace must have been painful. "Oh, Great Maker," the Centauri sighed mournfully, "very well." He turned briefly to the incognito Starfleet doctor, and said, "I hope to see you upon my return, Mr. Bashir. I have a feeling we would work very well together for a game of cards."

An insinscire smile and wave seemed appropriate, so that is exactly what Bashir did. Shaking his head at the Centauri ambassador's retreating form, Julian slumped into a nearby seat.

Almost instantly, a vice-like grip closed on his shoulder, and when he tried to stand, it forced him back down. Looking around, Julian found himself staring at a grey station security uniform. His throat closed involuntarily, and his mouth dried up. The barrel-chested security soldier holding him into his seat asked simply, "You are Julian Bashir?"

The doctor nodded slowly, feeling a cold ball forming in his stomach.

"Then I'm afraid we're going to have to hold you for questioning, sir," the guard said, as he reached over, and frisked Bashir's clothing, quickly finding and removing his comm-badge. "Please, come this way," the big man said firmly, leading a stunned Bashir out of the bar, and into the bustle of an outside corridor. In the end, there wasn't really any other choice.

"I don't know, Reg," Geordi LaForge said, "That's a big reactor, powering this entire place on fusion alone. There has to be some internal access points."

Barclay shook his head emphatically. "I've been going over Lieutenant Dax's scans of the layout of this place, and I can't find anything like that. It looks like they do all the major work externally." The frustrated engineer quickly obscured his padd when someone walked past. The public gardens were probably not the best place to be having this discussion.

The three of them, Geordi, himself, and Counselor Troi, were seated on a stone bench between two Japanese rock-gardens, ostensibly trying to figure out how to get a peek at the massive fusion plant that provided power to the entire station. Troi was simply sitting, staring into the carefully designed patterns of rock and sand, saying nothing. Above them loomed the other side of the interior cylinder, more than a kilometer over their heads, a dizzying patchwork of buildings, gardens, and hydroponic farms.

Geordi took the padd, and stared at it for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head, clearly dissapointed. "Yeah, you're probably right, Reg. I would have liked to see that thing up close though." He handed the padd back to Barclay. "Anything else we should see specifically?"

Barclay paused to think. They'd already visited Grey Sector, where most of the workings of the station were located, but they'd been unable to gain access to any of the more interesting spots. Finally he shrugged.

Deanna Troi looked over at them, smiling slightly. "Perhaps we should return to the Zocalo, Geordi. Doctor Bashir should be around there somewhere, and maybe a little entertainment is in order."

The Enterprise Chief Engineer sighed, and stared at the floor. "Our mission here is to gather what technical details we can get from within the station," he reminded her. "I'm not satisfied with what we've done so far, Counselor."

"I'm not suggesting we abandon our mission, Geordi," Troi scolded gently, "but perhaps it would be a good idea to take your mind off the immediate problems." She shrugged. "We have time. It would do you good to come back to this with a clear head."

Barclay didn't even look up from his padd, and gave no indication that he'd even heard her.

Still staring at the floor, Geordi ran his hand through his hair, and inhaled deeply. His head suddenly snapped up, and his optical implants visibly swirled as he focused on Troi. "Alright, Deanna, but just for a little while."

The counselor's smile widened, and standing, she patted Geordi on the shoulder reassuringly. "Come on, I think I saw a restaurant back there. I don't know about you, but I could certainly use something to eat."

Geordi flashed her a lopsided grin, and stood. "Ok Counselor, truth to tell, I am getting hungry." He glanced back over his shoulder at the other engineer. "Hey, Reg, you coming?"

Barclay's head jerked up from the padd he was staring at again. "Huh? Oh, n-no, that's ok." He finally slipped the padd back into his pocket and stood. Pointing in the opposite direction, farther out into the great open space, he said, "I'm not hungry. I'll – ah – take a walk through the gardens here."

Geordi eyed him quizzically. "You sure?"

Barclay bobbed his head.

"Ok, if you say so," Geordi said, not looking entirely convinced. Then he shrugged resignedly. "But try to relax, Reg, take your mind off things for a bit."

"I'll... try." Barclay said. He planned no such thing of course. Plots and plans of how to get to see the main fusion reactor on the station swirled through his mind in a jumble. But he needed to sort it out, and a quiet garden seemed like a good spot for that.

Troi's mouth set into a thin, disapproving line, but she and Geordi turned away, and strolled back into the corridor adjacent to the garden.

As soon as they were out of sight around the corner, Barclay pulled out the padd again, and walked slowly in the opposite direction as his friends.

He wasn't sure what first alerted him that something had gone wrong, but he looked away from his padd, and back in the direction the others had gone. Someone shouted. Geordi's voice. A pair of station security guards stepped into view in the doorway, and raised their weapons, pointing down the corridor. Barclay nearly dropped the padd, but maintained enough presence of mind to stuff it back into its pocket, although he felt rooted to the spot, gaping.

The one of the guards turned in his direction, and their eyes met.

"There's the other one!" the guard bellowed, pointing straight at Barclay.

The mood broke, and the assistant engineer turned and fled into the gardens. Behind him, a voice yelled, "Halt, or we'll shoot!"

But the blind terror had taken over, and Reg sprinted for all he was worth. Beside him, a blazing ball of fire impacted on a tall shrub, and the plant burst into flames. He felt the heat of its passage, and panicking, skidded around a tall hedge, and ran for all he was worth. The sound of feet pounding on the decking behind him rang in his ears, and he put on an adrenaline-fueled burst of speed.

He gained ground at first, and barreling through something akin to a hedge maze, pushing past confused pedestrians, he seemed to have eluded persuit for the moment. The breath was burning in his lungs, and blood thundered in his ears, but he dared not stop.

However, what he dared had little bearing on what really happened. Bolting around another corner of tall shrubs, he plowed into a thin, conservatively dressed man, and they both went down in a heap.

As they both got to their feet, the other man ignored Barclay's gasping breaths, and nonchalantly brushed off his suit. "Ah, fancy running into you, Mr. Barclay."

The miserble engineer nearly collapsed to his knees. "How... how d-did you know m-my name?" He choked out.

The other man smirked. "My associates have their ways. By the way, my name is Morden." He paused, and his eyes glinted dangerously. "Who are you, Mr. Barclay? Really, now."

Stricken, Barclay backed off from Morden. There was some nameless sense of horror around him. "Umm.. excuse me," he muttered lamely, and took flight again.

They were coming for him. They'd already gotten Geordi and Deanna, and he had no idea why, or what for. But he had been in enough holonovels to know that it was probably for nothing good. His thoughts died away though, when he ran full-tilt into a deserted cul-de-sac. There was no where else to run. Slapping himself across the head for his own forgetfulness, Barclay groped around in his pockets until his hand closed on his comm-badge. Somehow, it hadn't fallen out when he collided with Morden.

He squeezed it desperately, hearing the sounds of pursuit drawing closer. "Barclay to Defiant, beam me out now, please!" he shouted in a pleading tone. He only had to wait a split second before the transporter energies gripped him, and the station dissolved around him. Briefly, relief overwhelmed his discomfort in the transporter beam.

Picard had been sitting quietly in the small cell ever since he'd refused to answer Chief Garibaldi's questions. Deciding that he was probably under survaillence, he sought to draw as little attention as possible by being a model prisoner, while his mind raced. He had to believe that Data's tapping into the station network had not been the immediate cause of their arrest. He had only begun when the well-equipped security force had caught them in the act. That meant that Junior's identicards had not been up to par, that the incident with Doctor Bashir's bag, the removal of the wall panel, or some combination of the three had aroused a lot of suspicion.

He hoped that some of his people had gotten back to the Defiant and brought Worf up to speed on the situation, before the Klingon tried to rescue him by force. That was the last thing they needed now. 

A bright flash of light suddenly flared before his eyes, and died out, leaving a very contrite godling standing in front of him.

"Junior!" Picard exclaimed. "Get out of sight! We're being watched."

Junior waved his hand at that. "Don't worry, their equipment won't pick up me or my voice." He didn't wait for Picard to ponder how that was possible, but simply said, "I'm sorry... about this, about all of it."

Picard tried unsuccessfully to hide his surprise. He couldn't even imagine Q ever apologizing with such sincerity. "That isn't important now. Where were you?"

"I was having an interesting conversation with Draal," he replied.

"Who?"

Junior grinned mischieviously. "You'll find out soon. I think I know what we're here for." He looked around appraisingly. "First, let me get you out of here." He raised his hand, but before he could snap his fingers, Picard intercepted and grabbed his wrist.

"No." At Junior's questioning glance, he explained, with a gesture to the walls, "That would be inadvisable, right now. Remember what we discussed earlier, Junior."

Q's son nodded his head, slowly. "If you insist. I'll tell Commander Worf what happened here." He vanished before Picard could utter another word.

The captain went back to staring at the cell door. If security was after his other officers, and if they were unlucky, Worf would never know otherwise, and would probably attempt to liberate them in his usual... forceful manner. He had to hope Worf would listen to Junior. That aside, he also had to figure out how to go about telling the truth to Babylon 5's command staff. He didn't think they would take it very well from a man sitting in the brig.

As it turned out, he didn't have long to wait.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Captain John J. Sheridan leaned back in his chair, staring at the prisoner across the expanse of his desk. He could usually tell what was going on behind someone's eyes – a gut instinct about people. But that wasn't the case here. The prisoner's face was unreadable, except for an air of quiet confidence. 

Garibaldi hovered over Galen like a hawk, hand resting on the butt of his PPG. He clearly didn't trust his charge. But then, Sheridan reminded himself, his security chief made a point of trusting no one.

Sheridan picked up one of the strange devices sitting on his desk, and casually considered it. Then he looked up at Galen, and set the object back down. "Mr. Galen," he said, giving the prisoner a hard-eyed glare, "you have a lot of explaining to do."

"You have no idea, Captain," Gelen replied quietly, and with a touch of amusement that surprised Sheridan.

Sheridan scowled. "Try me."

Galen's eyebrows rose, and he looked skeptical. He looked down at the ground in concentration, then back up at Sheridan. "If you insist," he said, finally.

"We insist," Garibaldi nearly growled.

Sheridan nodded curtly when Galen's eyes shifted questioningly to Garibaldi.

"Very well then, Captain," the prisoner began, then paused, gathering his thoughts. "As you already seem to be aware, my name is not Galen."

Garibaldi made a pleased noise.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard..."

Sheridan's eyes got wider and wider as Galen – no, Picard – spoke. He told himself that it was all nonsense, this tale of a parallel universe, godlike beings, and barely imaginable alien races. But in his heart – dammit, he believed! The entire story was too fantastic, yet something in Picard's demeanor, and his assured bearing, broadcast his own sincerity.

Picard obviously believed every word he was saying. And that left two possibilities – either Picard was certifiably insane, or, more terrifyingly, it was all true. Sheridan noticed that Garibaldi's features were torn between suspicion and honest uncertainty.

"After consulting with my senior officers, I decided that the best course of action was to proceed somewhere that in our own universe was friendly territory, yet not as potentially dangerous as an alternate Earth," Picard was saying, "In our reality, Epsilon Eridani I is the Vulcan homeworld. I hoped that we'd be able to gather how drastic the differences were between realities by discovering what had changed there." He shook his head, his frustration clearly directed at himself. "I didn't consider just how drastic the changes could be, that the Vulcans might not exist at all."

Sheridan found himself nodding politely, still trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing.

Picard continued, "When we discovered Babylon 5 at this location, I conferred with my executive officer, Commander Riker, and the commander of the Defiant, Commander Worf, and I chose to infiltrate this station in disguise, and find out what we could." His tale told, Picard sat back.

Garibaldi looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "With all due respect... Captain," he said, words dripping with scorn, "That sounds like one big steaming pile of -"

"What Chief Garibaldi means," Sheridan cut in, "is that this story of yours is pretty hard to believe. Do you have proof of what you claim?"

"Yes," Picard said simply. He pointed to the objects scattered on Sheridan's desk. "Can you identify those?"

Garibaldi shook his head forcefully, but not in response to the question. "Uh-uh, doesn't work that way. So, those are strange looking tools. So what? You could have nabbed those from a Centauri doctor or something."

Picard's mouth twisted wryly. "I assure you, I did no such thing." To forestall another comment from Garibaldi, he continued, pointing at the chevron badges on Sheridan's desk. "If you want confirmation, allow me to contact my ship."

A warning look crossed Garibaldi's face, and Sheridan stared down at the equipment on his desk. A feeling told him he could trust this man, but he couldn't be certain of anything. This Picard person could still be some raving lunatic, with some equally insane friends. Finally, he reached out and tossed one of the badges to Picard. "Contact your ship," he said, "but I warn you, if this is a trick..." He left the rest unsaid.

"Captain," Garibaldi cautioned, but Sheridan cut him off with a gesture.

"Thank you Captain," Picard said judiciously. He affixed the badge to his tunic just over his heart, and tapped it. "Picard to Defiant."

A deep, harsh voice returned. "Captain!"

"Mr. Worf, it's good to hear your voice again," Picard replied warmly.

Garibaldi glanced over at his own captain, and mouthed the word. _Worf?_ Sheridan shrugged slightly, and watched his guest closely.

"Captain," Worf said gruffly, "What is your status? Lieutenant Barclay returned here a short time ago, and insisted that I not send over a security team to rescue you."

Picard eyed his counterpart carefully. "I'm here with the commander of this station, Mr. Worf. He wants proof of our existance, so oblige him, and decloak."

"But Captain!" Worf protested.

"You have your orders, Commander."

Worf made a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl. "Yes sir."

Sheridan noticed that Garibaldi's hand had drifted back to the butt of his PPG. But his own handlink suddenly beeped at him. "Sheridan, go," he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the man across from him.

"CnC, Captain," Commander Susan Ivanova said quickly, "we've just picked up a ship at five thousand klicks, unknown configuration." Her voice sounded shaky when she said, "Captain, I've never seen a design like this before, but the lettering on the hull is in English."

"Copy that, CnC," Sheridan responded, shooting an appraising look at Picard. "Don't activate the defense grid just yet, but keep it on standby. I think it's a friendly."

"Aye sir," Ivanova replied unhappily.

Sheridan cut the link, and looked up at his glowering security chief. "I don't know, Mr. Garibaldi, but that's pretty conclusive evidence right there."

Garibaldi just glared at Picard broodingly.

Picard tapped his badge again. "Picard to Defiant."

Worf's voice came back over the badge, still sounding gruff. "Captain, we have disengaged our cloaking device. The other vessels have taken up a defensive stance between us and the station."

"I'm aware of that, and thank you, Mr. Worf." Picard seemed to mull something over for a moment, then added, "Hail the Enterprise, and have Commander Riker bring the Enterprise alongside the Defiant."

"Aye sir," Worf intoned before the connection was severed.

Sheridan drummed his fingers on the desk. "Alright Captain Picard, now how about you tell me more about where you come from, and why you're here?"

*****

All was revealed at last. Understanding had come, not with a fanfare of angels, bright lights, and a booming voice from the heavens... but in a simple white envelope, brittle with age, marked in English in the handwriting of one she had called friend. The force behind the seemingly inconsequential letter within, however, bore the weight of a millenium of history, and the revalations contained on that plain sheet of paper, could humble kings and generals and prophets.

Delenn, formerly Acolyt, Satai, and chosen of Dukhat, placed the envelope carefully upon the table before her with trembling hands. Her mind spun relentlessly, and though all laws of nature no longer seemed inviolate, everything made too much sense, required too much harmony, to be dismissed. Soon, she would be needed, but for now, her overwhelmed conciousness pleaded for the relief of quiet meditation.

She drew in several shaky breaths, and concentrated on the hypnotic dance of the candle flame. Gradually, she felt her restless mind cease its frenzy, and began to organize her thoughts.

Time passed without notice. There was only the flame, the silence, and her own thoughts. Those thoughts kept going stubbornly back to one inescapable conclusion. _In Valen's Name. In... In Jeffrey's Name? _No. That way lay madness. 

The Grey Council had known some of the story, as she had, when she had been one of the nine. But only Dukhat ever known... Minbari not born of Minbari. The ancient description of Valen slipped through her mind, weaving around the other thoughts muddled there like a unifying thread in a great tapestry. 

"Delenn?"

A voice she recognized, soft and insistant. Lennier.

Lennier stepped slowly into the circle of light thrown off by the candle. "Delenn," he said again with a note of genuine concern, "are you well?"

"Yes, Lennier," she said quietly, "please, go, I wish to meditate further."

Her aide simply bowed in acceptance, and departed through the door, leaving her with her thoughts. Until a new voice intruded.

"Delenn, I see you recieved the letter. Good, good!"

Eyes lighting up, Delenn looked up into the face of her old mentor, and smiled warmly. "Draal, I did not expect you." She looked at the hologram anxiously. "Should you not be preparing for what is to come?"

Draal's brow furrowed. "Soon, very soon. But something has changed, Delenn."

"Changed?"

"Yes, changed. I have been observing events closely, as they unfold," he said, voice dropping a full octave, "and recently, I have begun to suspect that a power, even higher than the Shadows, have been influencing them."

"However," he said, before she could react, "I have been contacted by another power... so to speak. There is not time to explain fully, and for that I am sorry, Delenn, but even now, you have allies you have never met."

Delenn frowned. "Allies I have never met? How will I know them?"

Draal's look was one of pure exasperation, and he rolled his eyes. "You will know them when you see them, Delenn, and that I can promise." He steepled his hands, and bowed deeply to her. "Now, I must prepare. It is time for you to explain to the others. Farewell, Delenn."

Delenn's eyes glistened slightly, but she returned the bow. "Farewell, Draal." But the hologram was gone before she uttered the words.

She stood with a renewed sense of purpose, and an iron determination. If the time was now, that could only mean the one she sought, had arrived.

Zack Allen had only been awake for a few hours now, even though it was afternoon by station time. Already though, he was stuck in the main boarding terminal, scanning identicards. _Swipe._ The job was about as mind-numbing as they came, but someone had to do it. He wished that he wasn't that someone though. _Swipe. _Something had been keeping the chief busy all morning, and Zack grunted unhappily. He'd heard through the grapevine that there had been some excitement early in the day, and it figured that when he was finally back on duty, everything would be back to routine. _Swipe. _That seemed to be all over with now – however, although the troublemakers were in custody, Zack had heard some strange rumors about some sort of invisible ship, and strange people who were meeting with the captain.

He sighed glumly, and swiped another card. But the face on the card caught his attention. It looked very familiar. Then the name beneath it registered, and Zack looked up at the grey-haired man in front of him. "Commander Sinclair!" he said with surprised glee.

Sinclair smiled back. "That's Ambassador Sinclair... Zack is it?"

Zack beamed. "Yeah, I didn't think you'd remember. I only joined the staff a little while before you left." He paused, grinning, then asked, "So how long are you staying?"

"Now that," Sinclair said wryly, "is a complicated question."

Zack chuckled. "Well, it's good to see you again, sir."

"You too, Zack," Sinclair said with a smile, as he took his identicard back, and passed on into the station. For a moment, he stopped, and gazed around nostalgically, at the familiar contours, and the bright blue sign that read "Welome to Babylon 5." Then he took a deep breath, and continued. Destiny await.

Zack turned back to the next person on line. _Swipe._ Suddenly the steady routine didn't seem quite so dull.

*****

In the conference room usually reserved for senior staff meetings, John Sheridan favored the people before him with a flustered look. Picard's story had been easier to swallow, or at least dismiss, when it had been just him. But now, Picard was seated at the opposite end of the table, with four of his officers standing, ranged out behind him. And Sheridan didn't know exactly what to make of them.

They had all introduced themselves as officers from the U.S.S Enterprise, with the exception of the thin dark-haired man standing in the back, who claimed he was from another station, called Deep Space Nine, and that he was assigned to the U.S.S. Defiant. Sheridan reflected that it would have been far easier to pass them off as collectively insane, except for the minor detail that both of these ships were now sitting outside his station.

Commander Susan Ivanova, sitting to his right, appeared less than happy. She'd been on duty when Defiant had decloaked, and being surprised like that did not sit well with her. She liked to be in control, and the idea that this ship had been sitting out there for hours without her ever knowing it, rankled deeply. Her gaze, leveled directly at Picard, was grimly hostile.

Picard had just finished relating his story again, for Ivanova's benefit, and she looked even less thrilled than Garibaldi had been. In fact, Sheridan thought that she looked like she had bitten into something very sour. Not that he would risk saying that to her face. He was relieved that Garibaldi had decided not to stick around, and had already departed on his rounds. Though he'd made sure that there were guards lurking nearby.

"Now, Captain, you've explained just about everything," Sheridan said, scratching his chin, "except for who or what you were talking to in your cell."

Picard looked bemused. "That's more difficult to explain. His father, which is a concept I still am not comfortable with, is a being called Q, apparently one of an entire race of such beings."

"Q?" Ivanova asked sharply. "A godlike being is named a letter of the alphabet?" Her voice rang with incredulity.

"I can't explain it, Commander," Picard replied, "but it is not just Q himself. His civilization is called the 'Q Continuum,' and every being in it, is also named Q."

Susan Ivanova worked her jaw slowly, stopped, looked like she was going to speak, and then closed her mouth with a snap, settling on a deep-set glare. Yes, it was definately for the best that Garibaldi was not present.

"I am well aware of how rediculous this must sound, Commander," Picard added hurridly, in a placating tone. "But it is the truth. Q's son, whom we call Junior, came along with us, in a manner of speaking."

Sheridan cut off a snappy retort from Ivanova with a forced cough. He shot her a warning glance, then looked back up at Picard. "Captain, just where is Junior right now?"

Picard grimaced. "Now that, Captain, is a very good question."

"And one easily answered," said an unmistakable yet disembodied voice. There was a glare of bright light, and Sheridan found himself gawking at the teenager in the strange dark uniform who had suddenly appeared, already leaning back in a chair, with his feet kicked up on the tabletop.

"Junior," Picard said in a warning tone.

The boy looked around for the first time, and saw the dirty looks he was getting. Slowly, and sheepishly, he pulled his feet off the table, and sat up. He didn't seem comfortable in that position, but stayed there anyway. "Uh... sorry," he said in a forced tone. Then his face brightened. "I was just working out the final arrangements with Draal, and it's all settled now."

"_What_ is all settled now?" Sheridan interjected. "What's Draal got to do with all this?"

Junior turned to him and grinned hugely. "You'll see. In fact, just about..."

Picard's comm-badge beeped.

"Now," Junior finished, triumphantly. He vanished as quickly as he had arrived, and Picard glared at the space the godling had just vacated.

Picard scowled, and tapped his chevron pin. "Picard here."

"Sorry to interrupt Captain," Will Riker said contritely, "but we've just picked up something you should know about."

The Starfleet captain frowned, and glanced up at the ceiling. "What is it, Number One?"

Riker hesitated, then explained, "Sir, a little while ago, Lieutenant Dax discovered an artificial construct of some kind in a chasm on the planet. Everything was quiet then, but... Captain, the planet is broadcasting a beam of tachyons to a point in space about twelve million kilometers distant."

Sheridan and Ivanova shared an inscrutable look.

Picard noticed, but pretended not to. "What is it doing, Number One?"

"It's..." Riker's voice turned grim. "It's generating a temporal anomaly."

"Fascinating," Data said.

"Oh, shit," Ivanova muttered.

Sheridan's eyes widened. "So that's what Draal has to do with this."

Picard ignored the interruptions, and said, "I understand, Will. Picard out."

Even as he tapped his comm-badge, Sheridan's handlink bleeped at him. He grimaced at Picard's sympathetic look, and said, "Sheridan, go."

"Captain, this is CnC," Lieutenant David Corwin's voice sounded disturbed – no, downright scared. "We've just intercepted a message you really should see."

"Copy that, CnC, where is it from?"

Corwin hesitated. "I think our instruments are malfunctioning, sir, but according to this, it's coming from Sector 14."

The designation meant nothing to Picard and his crew, but Ivanova's head whipped around, and she and Sheriden spoke simultaneously. 

"Babylon 4."

Into the brief lull of tense silence that followed that pronouncement, the door chimed. Sheridan scowled. Whoever it was who had the gall to try an enter the staff conference room uninvited, would be sorry for interrupting. "Who is it?" he snapped.

His anger vanished in an instant at the sound of the soft voice from the other side. "John," Delenn said over the link, "May we enter? It is most urgent."

"Of course," he said hastily. "Come in."

The door obediantly swung open, and Delenn rushed into the room, flanked by Marcus and man he didn't recognize at first. Her eyes flashed at the sight of the others. Without preamble, she said, "We have much to discuss, and little time."

Sheridan stood, perplexed. "Everything's going straight to hell Delenn, can't this wait?"

"No, it cannot."

"Jeff!" Susan Ivanova jumped to her feet, gaping, then smiled brilliantly.

"Hello, Susan," said the dignified man standing beside Marcus. 

Sheridan blatedly recognized his predecessor, and nodded in welcome. "Ah... Welcome back to Babylon 5, Ambassador Sinclair."

Sinclair nodded gravely, but smiled slightly. "Thank you Captain, it's good to be back. But Delenn is right. We don't have much time and there's a lot you need to know."

Picard and his crew had been quietly watching the brief reunion, but Delenn turned to him. "You lead your people?"

Somewhat surprised, Picard nodded. "That is true, Madam."

Delenn dipped her head. "I was told you would be here. You may bring two of your officers. That will make nine of us, which is appropriate. You must understand, if you wish to help." She turned back to the others without waiting for a reply, and began giving instructions.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

__

"... repeat, this is Babylon 5, to any ships in grid Epsilon. We are --der attack. The Captain's dead... they're coming thro--- the hull! Any ---ps, please respond! Oh my God, here they come again!"

The sound dissolved into static, and Garibaldi felt the fist that had been squeezing his heart finally let up. "Christ," he muttered shakily. He'd seen Ivanova not fifteen minutes ago, on her way down to join the captain in the conference room. Yet here was what was obviously her voice, announcing the death of Babylon 5. He blinked hard a few times, as if to prove that he and the station had not in fact been blown to atoms when he hadn't been paying attention.

He looked over at Lieutenant Corwin, who seemed more confused than anything else. "Can you get a visual?" Garibaldi asked hopefully.

Corwin shook his head firmly. "Negative, Chief, there's too much interference out there."

"Damn. Did you call the captain up here?"

"Yes sir," Corwin confirmed. "I contacted him the minute we got that signal. He should be up here any minute."

Garibaldi paced the command deck thoughtfully. He was the only one on the entire station who had direct experience with the anomaly in Sector 14, so he would know what to look for. Probably. Maybe. His head shot up, and he announced, "I'm going to get closer to that thing, see if we can get a better look at the transmission. When the captain gets up here, tell him I took a Starfury out there. We've got to know if this is legit." He already thought he knew the answer to that one. But the bigger questions remained. _Who destroyed/will destroy Babylon 5, and when will it happen?_ To get those answers he needed a clearer transmission.

"I'll tell him, Chief," Corwin replied in a subdued tone.

Michael Garibaldi didn't bother waiting for the response, but was already nearly sprinting out the door.

*****

Delenn squeezed the data crystal in her hand and looked slowly around the darkened room, studying the people seated in front of her. There were eight of them, seated in a semicircle of chairs, each bathed in a thin column of light from the ceiling, a sight that reminded her painfully of the hall of the Grey Council. But this was no Minbari council, and she dragged herself back to the present, with some effort.

On her left, at one end of the crescent, sat Lennier. He simply watched her quietly, waiting for her to begin, and trusting in what she would say without having to hear it. In the next seat over, Marcus Cole had abandoned his usual cheery expression, and looked positively grave, which was further accentuated by his dark Ranger uniform and tense posture.

Then there was Lieutenant Commander Data, one of Picard's crew. Delenn didn't know quite what to make of his white skin and golden eyes, but then, she wasn't sure of what to make of any of them. They had returned to their ship, and were now all wearing nearly identical black and grey uniform jumpsuits. But their chosen method of departure and return had shocked everyone else. Picard had tried to explain it to them, but his description of the transporters had not been particularly enlightening, although their function was obvious. 

At the moment, Data was looking around the imaging room with unvarnished curiosity. He sat at the right hand of Captain Picard, in an extremely stiff pose.

Picard himself, who seemed much more comfortable in his uniform, was also looking around, and like Delenn, was carefully observing the others. Even as that thought occurred to her, he glanced in her direction, and met her gaze easily he realized she was staring at him.

At Picard's left, sat his executive officer, Commander Riker. He was slouched back in his chair slightly, with a look of affected nonchalance. But she noticed that his eyes were darting about the room, taking in everything. In fact, she quickly grew certain that he was looking for traps and escape routes from the room. She supressed a sigh. He would probably have been able to find a lot of common ground with Neroon.

Of course, even in the midst of this crowd, Jeffrey Sinclair looked as serene as ever, a pillar in a storm of confusion. He alone, save Delenn, understood what was happening. Even the arrival of allies, and presumably enemies, from another dimension didn't faze him, and he simply stared straight ahead, unconcerned with his surroundings. But with that understanding came sadness, and Sinclair's face was beginning to show lines, and his hair showing the first signs of grey.

Next to him, Susan Ivanova was making no pretense of not staring at the Starfleet officers. She eyed them warily, and Delenn thought, a little nervously. She reflected that perhaps it was the similarity of their uniforms to those worn by Psi-Cops that had Ivanova so riled. But she doubted that was the half of it. She wondered exactly what had happened before she had arrived in the conference room. She'd only caught a little of the story from John before everyone had arrived.

John was sitting in the last seat on her right, and when she glanced at him, he smiled back reassuringly. Delenn tried to return it, but the weight of events was too much, and she looked away, took a deep breath, then faced the group at large.

"What you are about to see," she began with slow significance, "has only ever been seen by the Grey Council." Delenn unclenched her fist, and ignoring the sore impression in her palm where she'd been squeezing it, placed the data crystal into the computer socket on the small console next to her. As a Satai, she had seen this video so many times that she did not even have to look at the images playing out on the wall behind and partially around and above them.

On the holographic screen, a dozen spiky black Shadow vessels swooped through space, visible mainly as they blotted out the stars behind them. The spidery forms swept forwards towards a massive space station that suddenly became visible, surrounded by squatter, more primitive versions of the large Minbari cruisers currently hovering around Babylon 5. Fighters raged between the big capital ships, Minbari exchanging fire furiously with their Shadow counterparts.

"One thousand years ago, during the last Shadow War, the Shadows destroyed our greatest starbase." Punctuating Delenn's words, blinding violet energy beams swept through the massive station, literally cutting it apart. "Without a forward base of operations, we would not have been able to defeat the Shadows."

Marcus blinked a few times. "But Delenn, the Shadows _were _defeated."

Delenn nodded sharply. "They were. A... replacement station arrived, which was then used as a base to launch the final assault against the Shadows." She gestured to the image behind her. "This was recorded a short time after the destruction of our starbase."

The image of the exploding station vanished, and was replaced with a momentary view of blank space. Then there was a ripple of light, and the stars were obscured by... something. Something very big.

Marcus gaped. "My God!"

John and Ivanova gasped in shock.

Data's eyes widened, and he murmured, "Fascinating." One advantage of his positronic mind was instant recall.

Picard paused to consider the image, then the proverbial light went off over his head, and he whispered, "_Mon duei."_

Only Riker, Sinclair, and Lennier remained quiet and inscrutable. Riker clearly didn't immediately understand the signifigance of what he was seeing, and Lennier's composure was too deeply ingrained. Sinclair quirked a tiny smile, but directed at the reactions of the others.

"That's Babylon 4!" Ivanova finally blurted out.

Delenn dipped her head. "Yes," she admitted. "This was known only to the nine of the Grey Council. We had never known where it had come from, until we witnessed the design of the first Babylon station."

"When Michael and I went to Babylon 4 two years ago, when it had reappeared," Sinclair said, nodding gravely, "we saw some strange things, things that didn't make sense until I learned what was going on just recently."

"But you did not see everything," Delenn firmly replied. "The rift was open for some time before you and Mr. Garibaldi arrived. The Great Machine on Epsilon III recorded these images in that time."

She tapped a button on the console, and the stunning view of Babylon 4 was replaced with another view of the same station. But in this picture, a group of small, spiny black vessels were dragging along a tall cylinder that reminded Riker of the way the Enterprise's bare warp core had looked, as Geordi jettisoned it to stop the So'na weapon in the Briar Patch.

Then a pulse of energy flashed into the scene, and one of the Shadow fighters – for that was clearly what they were – shattered in a quickly dispersed spray of something that looked uncomfortably like ichor. A new vessel flew into the screen like an avenging angel of death. It was a sleek, blue-violet colored ship that moved with a grace that reminded Picard of the Defiant. It fired again, and a stream of pulses blew away another two Shadow fighters. The rest continued on however, and it quickly became apparent that their destination was Babylon 4. Then the screen went blank.

"The White Star!" John said, rising to his feet. Ivanova and Marcus were a second behind him.

Delenn looked severe. "Yes. We were not the only ones to recognize Babylon 4, and understand its importance. Two years ago, the Shadows attempted to destroy it, and forever change the course of history."

"But we stopped them," John said with dawning comprehension.

"Exactly."

Marcus looked from one of them to the other in clear befudlement. "How the hell does that work? The bloody White Star didn't even exist two years ago!"

Ivanova's eyes got wide, and her tone was flat and resigned. "Don't you see, Marcus? We haven't done it yet. Which means that..."

"... Babylon 4 actually leaped forward to now, and only then jumped back to two years ago, when we found it," Sinclair said with a concrete certainty.

"Which is why we must take the White Star to Babylon 4 now, and stop the Shadows two years ago, so it can continue back a thousand years," Delenn said with finality.

Marcus shook his head ruefully. "Does anyone else's head hurt yet?"

"Tell me about it," Ivanova grumped.

Sheridan frowned formidably. "So that leaves a major unanswered question." He turned to Picard. "Where do you people fit in to all of this?"

To Delenn's surprise, it was Data who answered. "I have a theory to that effect," he said, sounding much too cheerful for anyone else's taste. "In order for the timeline to exist as it does, you must have succeeded in your goal. However, our entire purpose for being here, according to Q, is to maintain the normal flow of time in spite of intereference by the M Continuum." He paused, to make sure everyone was following him. They did not, but he pressed ahead. "This being the case, it would stand to reason that when you attempt this mission this time, members of the M Continuum will have altered events, probably to ensure your failure. Our goal would be to assist you, and make certain you succeed anyway."

Marcus groaned loudly, and Ivanova rolled her eyes.

"Marcus," Sinclair said chidingly.

Marcus looked appropriately chastened. "My apologies, Entil'Zha."

"The actual questions that remain are more complicated," Data continued. "We still do not know the specifics of what has been altered."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Data," Picard said pragmatically. "We now know what must take place, and that was our entire purpose for our infiltrating Babylon 5 in the first place."

"Indeed, Captain. The other question that arises concerns the outcome if we do in fact fail in this endeavor."

This time, Sheridan spoke. "I think I can answer that one." He walked over to the console where Delenn still stood, and removed a data crystal from his tunic pocket. "We picked up this transmission from the time-rift earlier. There's no visual, so Garibaldi couldn't get a fix on the time-stamp, or whether it is even legitamate. Given what I've heard here, I think I know what it is now." He removed Delenn's crystal, and handed it to her, while putting his own in place.

A garbled voice suddenly filled the room. Ivanova's. She flinched, and everyone in the room turned to look at her involuntarily.

"This is Commander Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5. We are under attack! Please respond! I repeat, this is Babylon 5, to any ships in the sector, we are under attack! The Captain's dead... they're coming through the hull! Oh my God, here they come again!"

Then there was an inhuman scream, a horrible sound that seemed to drill into the very soul with icy needles of fear. Ivanova's voice screamed, once, and the transmission dissolved into static.

"I never sent a message like that!" Ivanova blurted.

Delenn turned to her with an expression full of infinite sorrow, but said nothing, and looked around at the others. "If we do not succeed, and Babylon 4 is destroyed by the Shadows, they will not be defeated a thousand years ago, and will emerge from the last war with their fleet intact," she said imploringly. "If that happens, they will not be afraid to move openly from the outset, when we are not yet ready to fight them."

Sheridan sucked in a deep breath. "Then we had better get going, hadn't we?" Not waiting for anyone to comment on what was obviously a rehtorical question, he tapped his handlink. "Sheridan to CnC."

"CnC here, Captain."

"I want two shuttles prepped and ready to launch, right now," Sheridan commanded. "Contact Chief Garibaldi, and tell him to hold down the fort for the time being."

"Aye sir," Corwin replied, "but Chief Garibaldi took out a Starfury a little while ago, said he was going to sector 14. He wanted to get a visual on that weird message we picked up."

"Copy that, CnC," Sheridan said gruffly. "Tell Mr. Garibaldi to get back here right now."

"Yes sir."

Sheridan pressed the link again, cutting the connection with a soft curse.

Sinclair laughed, though there was a tinge of sadness in it. "That's Michael for you. That's why I couldn't tell him I'd come aboard. If he knew what we were doing, he'd make sure he came along."

Smiling at that, Sheridan turned to Picard. "Alright Captain, we'll take the shuttles, and get the White Star. We can be at the rift in about three hours."

"Agreed. We'll rendezvous there, in three hours," Picard said with determination.

"That's not all," Sinclair quietly added. "We'll be having a... guest come aboard."

*****

Worf stood and watched dispassionately as the captain, Commander Riker, and Commander Data materialized on the Enterprise's transporter pads. He and Ezri Dax had come over from the Defiant in response to a terse communication from Captain Picard, and Worf was pleased to note that he had been more punctual than the captain.

Picard stepped forward, similing, and clasped Worf's hand in a firm grip. Worf approved of the human gesture, and what it represented, and accepted the handshake with an even tighter grasp. True to form, Picard impressed Worf again by not even wincing.

"Mr. Worf," Picard began, "Welcome aboard." He noticed Ezri standing quietly behind the burly Klingon, and amended, "You as well, Lieutenant Dax." Ezri grinned and nodded in reply.

"Thank you sir," Worf said by way of reply. "What is the situation?"

Picard smiled sardonically. "Complicted, Mr. Worf, very complicated." He turned to his exec, and said, "Number One, assemble the senior staff in the conference room for a meeting in half an hour. We have a lot of explaining to do."

Riker snorted. "You can say that again." He departed the transporter room followed closely by Data.

"I want the both of you there as well," Picard said after a brief considering look at Worf and Ezri.

"Yes sir."

"Now," Picard said in a different tone, "I don't know about you two, but with all that's happened, I haven't eaten since we boarded the station, and I intend to do something about that right now."

The doors had no sooner slid closed on his retreating form, then Worf and Ezri exchanged glances, and began to laugh together for the first time in months.

*****

From his perch centered behind the shuttle's pilots' seats, where Sheridan and Marcus were seated, Sinclair had a clear view of the display screen. At the moment, the screen showed only a lone Starfury crossing the starfield, aimed in the opposite direction that the two shuttles were moving. Sinclair sighed, a sound partly of loss, and partly of relief. He didn't have to ask who was piloting that 'fury – he knew.

"Goodbye old friend," he whispered, too quietly for the others to hear.

Michael Garibaldi's fighter quickly passed out of view, and disappeared behind them on its way back to Babylon 5.

As Sinclair turned his thoughts to his sucessor as commander of Babylon 5, he felt a stab of guilt. He and Delenn knew more than they had told the others during the briefing, and he didn't like holding out on them. But then, he didn't like holding out on Michael either, and he had to do that, for the Chief's own sake. He and Delenn had agreed that if the others knew all of what was to come, they could ruin the past through their own good intentions. But every instinct in him rebelled at his subterfuge.

He was shaken out of his ruminations when Sheridan twisted his head around to look back at him. "So who is this mystery guest we're supposed to be meeting?"

"Sorry Captain," said Sinclair apologetically, "but you'll have to wait and see."

Sheridan sighed. "Ok, Ambassador, have it your way. But tell me this. In all this time, no one has mentioned why you, of all people, are involved in this. What role do you play in this mess?"

Sinclair winced at the pointed question, and Marcus looked surprised, probably for not realizing that himself. "I'm..." he hesitated, searching for the right words. "I'm needed here, Captain, more than anyone but Delenn can know. You will come to understand yourself, in time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Marcus grinned, and leaned across the gap between the seats, in a classic conspiratorial pose. "We had a saying, during Ranger training, that the only way to get a straight answer out of Ranger One was to look at what he said in a mirror, while hanging upside-down."

Sheridan stared at him as if the Ranger had suddenly spouted antennea. "Did it work?"

"Oddly enough, yes," Marcus admitted. "Or after a few hours, you passed out and had a vision. The end result tended to be the same either way."

Sheridan snorted, and found himself laughing along with the Ranger.

Sinclair felt himself smiling involuntarily. He had always hated the Vorlon tendency to be cryptic, and here he was being accused of the same crime. It struck him as annoyingly ironic.

*****

"Hey Chief, welcome back," Zack Allen's grindingly cheerful voice said over the communications channel.

Garibaldi found himself grinning slightly as he swung the Starfury's nose back on to course. Epsilon III loomed in his view, a vaguely menacing reminder of the morning's events. He'd had to swing wide around a pair of shuttles headed in the other direction, and it had cost him some time. "Copy that, Zack, I'm coming back to the barn. ETA..." he paused, and glanced at the figures on his navigation display. "Fourty-seven minutes." But he did a double-take, and looked more closely at his sensor returns. After a moment, there was no doubt. The two Starfleet ships were gone.

Reopening the channel with Babylon 5, he mentioned that fact to his second in command, and added, "So did the Captain finally give them the ole' boot?"

Zack laughed appreciatively. "Looks like it sir. Corwin says they took off a few hours ago, just a little while before the Captain did."

"What?" Garibaldi asked, disbelievingly. "Where'd the Captain go?"

"Sector 14, I think. Ambassador Sinclair didn't drop any details when he arrived."

Garibaldi's mind raced in a mix of confusion, concern, and anger. "Jeff was here?"

Zack suddenly sounded contrite. "Sorry Chief, I thought you knew."

But his response went unanswered as Garibaldi muttered rapidly to himself. "Those loons left before Sheridan did... they knew where he was going..." His eyes widened in sudden shock and self-reproach. "Aw hell!"

He ignored Zack's plaintive, "What is it, Chief?" and spinning the fighter completely around, slammed the burners to full. He only hoped he'd get there in time to warn the others, and make a difference. Ambush. It had to be, and he cursed himself for not considering that possibility earlier.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

The conference room aboard the Enterprise was subdued, quiet, and calm. Captain Jean-Luc Picard leaned back into his chair, which was swiveled away from the glassy black table, and stared out the windows into the depths of space. The silence helped him organize his thoughts, and consider his options. He was briefly grateful, that despite their initial setbacks, he now knew exactly what must be done to preserve this timeline. He doubted that any other dimension they would surely encounter would be so forgiving. That was not an issue in this timeline however, thanks to the Minbari Ambassador. 

Yes, there was a puzzle. The databanks he and Data had reviewed aboard Babylon 5 indicated that Delenn's appearence was not typical of Minbari, and was a recent development. At any rate, Picard found her fascinating. She was exotically beautiful, granted, but he sensed in her a quiet wisdom and decency, tempered by tragedy, that reminded him a great deal of Anij... but with more fire. Given the way Babylon 5's captain had stood protectively near her at the end of the briefing, it was obvious that they were close. It was none of his business, of course, but it struck him as a promising sign, after what he'd learned about the Earth-Minbari war, and Sheridan's role in it.

He swung his chair back around to face the table when the hiss of the opening doors cut into his musings. Riker entered, followed by Worf, Data, and Dax. Picard tugged at his uniform, and nodded a welcome to his officers.

"The others are on their way," Riker explained.

Picard acknowledged that softly, and looked across the table at the others. It was only a moment later that the awkward silence was broken by the swish of the doors, heralding the entrance of Doctor Crusher, Counselor Troi, Chief Engineer LaForge, and Doctor Bashir.

When they had all taken their seats, Picard placed his hands flat on the tabletop, and leaned forward solemnly. "Now that you are all here, I think it is about time that you all heard the full story. Mr. Data knows as much as I do," Picard said with a nod to the android, "so I'm sure he can supply any specifics I miss." He paused, then said, "I suppose we should start at the beginning."

"We initially beamed into a deserted loading port, outside of customs and the main boarding terminal, so we would appear to have disembarked normally. The identicards Junior provided us allowed us to pass unopposed through customs. Unfortunately," Picard said sheepishly, "despite our not bringing any weapons along," he ignored Worf's disapproving grunt. 

The Klingon was first and foremost a security officer, and he had been against disarming the away team. In his own mind, his concerns had been validated when they had been captured by station security. Picard smiled inwardly, trying to picture Worf's reaction to the equally tough-as-nails Garibaldi.

"As I was saying," he continued with a mock glare at Worf, "Their weapon scanners were better than we expected, and Doctor Bashir's medical equipment registered. That Data did not, I can only attribute to an act of Junior. I saw no indication otherwise that they had experience with positronic androids."

Data nodded. "Indeed sir, during our research into the history of this timeline, I encountered no mention of positronics or self-aware computer systems, save for a notation that Babylon 5's initial computer systems had contained an artificial intelligence. It was apparently purged by Chief Garibaldi fairly recently, and –"

"Quite so, Mr. Data." Picard hurridly interrupted, before slipping back into his narration. "At any rate, Data was not detected, but Doctor Bashir's medical equipment was. We were approached by the station's chief of security, the same Mr. Garibaldi Data just mentioned..." The captain's voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "It's not important, although Junior was involved."

Bashir snorted, and Ezri eyed him curiously. He looked over at her, and mouthed, _I'll tell you later._

"He was close enough to keep tabs on us, apparently," Picard was saying. "He arrived a moment later, to make it appear as though we were expected by someone on the station. I cannot fault his timing, but he was recognized by security, which I can only take to mean that his previous visits did not pass unremarked." Picard paused when he noticed Worf glowering darkly. "Mr. Worf, I understand that there was nothing you could do about that."

Worf looked only slightly mollified, but he grumbled, "Thank you sir."

"Junior had secured quarters for us aboard the station, which we had intended to use as a secure waypoint in the event we needed to beam out, or beam equipment in. Once we were there, we had Defiant beam down some tricorders for closer inspection. Mr. LaForge and Lieutenant Barclay set off to gain an engineering perspective of the station itself." He dipped his head at Geordi, then glanced at Troi and Bashir. "Counselor Troi and Doctor Bashir went to examine the station's medical technology and learn what they could first-hand about the many alien races aboard. Commander Data and myself remained in our quarters, which had a computer terminal. We studied the history of this timeline, in order to discover where the divergence lay." Picard leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands in front of his face. "Now, as I know quite well what happened to myself and Data, I'd like to hear from the others first. Geordi, what can you tell us?"

The dark complexioned engineer leaned forward over the table, so as better to look down its length. "I hate to say it, but we didn't find out too much, Captain." His eyes unfocused as he thought back, causing the tiny etched microcircuits to rotate eerily about his pupil. "We had gotten a padd of Defiant's scan reports of the station, and checked that against a few maps of the station we found aboard. They were very thorough, and we only encountered one anomaly, and that was that the station listing included ninteen levels in Grey Sector, but," he paused at the blank looks around him. "That's their maintenance and engineering section."

Several heads around the table nodded understandingly.

"Anyway, the station maps listed nineteen levels in Grey Sector, but Defiant's scans show twenty." He shrugged. "I don't know what it means, it's probably nothing major, but we went through the whole area, at least as far as civilians are allowed to go, and there were only nineteen stops on the lift. Without clearence though, we couldn't get a look at any of the real inner workings of the station. Additionally, the only apparent access to the fusion reactor that powers the entire place is by EVA."

"I was hoping for more, Mr. LaForge, but I can understand why that was difficult," Picard said glumly.

"It's a shame too," Geordi said, with an air of disappointment. "I'd have loved to see that thing up close. It's a single reactor, so it must be huge. The only other station I know of that runs on fusion is Deep Space Nine, and they've got four reactors powering a much smaller area." He smiled brightly as he thought of something else, and continued, "I don't think any of these races use matter-antimatter reactors like we do, but they've really advanced their fusion technology. The scans Defiant got of it were pretty thorough, and I'd definately like to see those."

"Later, Geordi," Picard, replied with a borderline chuckle. His Chief Engineer could spend hours looking over that data... but there was too much to be done first. "Now, Counselor, Doctor?"

Troi spoke first, much to Bashir's evident relief. Picard waited to hear his story with some amused anticipation.

"Well, the first place we decided to go was the Zocalo."

"It's kind of like the Promanade back on DS9," Bashir cut in for everyone's benefit.

Troi ignored the doctor, and continued, "It's a marketplace of sorts, with some taverns, restaurants, and shops. We went there first, because it looked like the best place to observe the different races and people that inhabit the station." She looked at Picard apologetically. "I have trouble with large crowds, and I couldn't get much in the way of individual readings, but I sensed an overall tension in them. Most of the races seem to distrust each other, but they seemed to all fear," she paused and gestured uselessly, "something, something terrible, and external." She looked confused and anxious. 

Riker reached out and squeezed her hand below the level of the tabletop. She smiled at him, but with a hint of weariness.

Picard nodded understandingly. "I think we may be able to explain that feeling, Counselor. Go on," he said, motioning.

"There's not much else to tell, Captain. There's some very interesting species on the station, but I didn't recognize any of them. We finally met up with Geordi and Reg on their way up from Grey Sector." She glanced at the engineer, who nodded afirmation. "Doctor Bashir said he wanted to see their sickbay, so I stayed with Geordi and Reg. We even saw the inside of the habitat. It was quite beautiful," she sighed wistfully. "We were just about to go to one of those restaurants for lunch, when security captured us."

Bashir noticed Picard staring at him expectantly, and launched into his own story. "After Counselor Troi left with Geordi, I looked up their infirmary, which they call Medlab, and went there. Unfortunately, since we were concealing my status as a doctor, and I wasn't injured, I wasn't able to get too far. But I did get a look at some of their equipment." His eyes lit up. "In some ways, their medical technology is limited. They still use actual surgery, and they don't have things like dermal regenerators. But in other ways... well, they were using precision nanites for non-invasive procedures, and their synthesis equipment appeared to be very good."

"That seems to be true with a lot of their technology," Riker mentioned.

Picard acknowledged the truth of that remark. Riker had obviously seen the same indications from the sensor reports he'd gotten from Lieutenant Dax.

"When they finally kicked me out of Medlab, I decided to do a little exploring of my own. I eventually wound up in some seedy bar." He flashed an expressive look at Ezri, when he added, "I mean really seedy. Worse even than Quark's."

Worf snorted, and Ezri snickered into her hand.

Grinning at the result of his pronouncement, Bashir concluded, "I met up with the Centauri ambassador there, a guy named Londo Mollari." He said the last in mock regal tones. "He tried to hook me into some kind of card game I've never heard of before... the way he explained the rules, it might well have been Fizzbin. Instead, I introduced him to darts."

He said it innocently enough, but Ezri groaned, and regarded him from under the hand she'd placed on her forehead. "Julian, you didn't."

Bashir grinned like the Cheshire cat, and refrained from comment.

Ezri stifled a dismayed giggle with obvious effort.

Picard glanced at his former tactical officer questioningly, and Worf said with uncharacteristic lightness, "Ask Chief O'Brien the next time you speak to him."

For some reason, that comment elicited more laughter from the doctor and Lieutenant Dax. 

"Noted," Picard replied wryly, still not quite understanding what was so amusing.

Bashir shrugged. "After I won fifty credits from Londo, he was requested for some sort of diplomatic thing. Two minutes later, a security officer, who probably shared more than the usual number of genes with gorillas, grabbed me."

Picard chuckled drily. "That does seem to be the one experience we all shared, doesn't it?"

Worf scowled again.

"While you were all out exploring, Data and I did some research into the background history of this timeline." Picard covered the highlights of what they'd learned, Data chiming in the relavent details and dates. They explained about the Earth Alliance, the Earth-Minbari war, and the current political climate as best they could.

Reaching the end of his narrative, and noting the looks on the faces of the others as they tried to absorb everything at once, Picard gestured to the android. "Data, if you please." While Data nodded and stood, Picard looked back at the rest of his officers. "Now we come to the immediate situation, and the reason we are here."

Data nodded, and walked to the head of the conference table, where there was a large display screen mounted in the wall. "Computer," Data said flatly, "display recording file Data-Nine-Theta."

Riker grunted in recognition, and Picard sat back to watch the briefing again. On the screen, Delenn began, "What you are about to see..."

*****

"Delenn, Captain," Lennier said insistently, coming down the corridor from the bridge of the White Star. He looked troubled – that is, more tense than usual.

"What is it, Lennier?" Sheridan asked, pausing as the Minbari drew up in front of them. Behind him, Sinclair looked thoughtful, and at his side, Delenn regarded her aide with worried eyes. Marcus and Ivanova exchanged a glance.

"There is another transport docking." At the blank looks that elicited, he added, "It came from Epsilon III."

Sinclair nodded understandingly, Delenn looked surprised, and Sheridan frowned. No one had time for anything more, as a loud crash and clatter brought all of their attention to the other end of the corridor, where a Minbari crewwomen was splayed backwards on the ground, small black boxes scattered all around.

In an aggrieved tone, a growly voice grated haltingly. "Oh, Zathras being very sorry. Much apologizing." The speaker came into view, a mangy-looking humanoid with fuzzy orange hair, spotted skin, and clothing that looked both old and tattered. 

Sinclair smiled in instant recognition, while his companions gaped at the strange creature. "Zathras!" he called out, and being in question jumped up from the floor, where he'd been trying to gather together the black cases.

Zathras stumbled hurridly over to the group, and stared delightedly at Sinclair. "Ah! Zathras is much pleased to be meeting you! Is very great honor, yes," he said, finishing with an odd clicking of his tongue.

"I thought I'd be seeing you again," Sinclair grinned.

"Zathras is glad for to be recognized. But much confused. Zathras does not remember meeting you before. But is very pleased to be making your aquaintance."

Understanding flashed through Sinclair's mind like a bolt of lightning. He'd forgotten how convoluted this time travel thing was. He had met Zathras two years ago, but that was who this Zathras would be soon. Sinclair was glad he didn't have to try and explain it all to anyone... it gave him a headache. "Zathras, you must listen to me very carefully," he said firmly.

"Zathras obeys the One." Zathras clicked his tongue again.

"Good. Now, when we get to Babylon 4, if you see me, but it isn't me," he said, pointing a finger at his chest, "you can't tell me anything. Do you understand?"

Zathras bobbed his head eagerly. "Oh, yes." Then his gaze abruptly darkened, and he frowned. "Well, no, Zathras not understand. But Zathras not need to understand, Zathras will do anyway," he added quickly.

Sheridan interrupted, with a look directed at Sinclair. "You know this person?"

"In a manner of speaking," Sinclair replied enigmatically.

"Oh yes," Zathras clicked, "Zathras knows the One. Draal tell Zathras many things."

"What sort of things? And who is the One?" Sheridan asked, ignoring the warning look Sinclair shot him.

Zathras looked like he was about to speak, then changed his mind, and grinned lopsidedly up at Sheridan. "Ah... trying to trick Zathras. Zathras not allowed to tell. Could do terrible things in time. Forget everything Zathras has said. But, Zathras not remember what things," he confessed. "Maybe remember later."

Sinclair's brow furrowed in bemusement. "If you remember later, can you tells us?"

"If Zathras remembers, Zathras will tell you." 

Sheridan grinned delightedly, but Sinclair favored him with a mock glare. Then he motioned towards the bridge. "Come on, we've got to get going now that we have everything we need."

***** 

"Well, that certainly explains a lot," Bashir said into the silence that followed the replay of Delenn's briefing.

"I'll say," Ezri said, leaning back and blinking.

"It certainly makes more sense after your little history lesson, Captain," Riker agreed.

Picard looked apologetically at his first officer. "I'm sorry we couldn't fill you in before that briefing Number One, but we were pressed for time. But now you can all see why it is imperative that we protect Babylon 4 from those Shadows."

Riker nodded thoughtfully. "That leaves one important question."

"Only one?" Bashir muttered.

"Just what are these 'Shadows,' Captain? That sounds like an awfully dramatic name," Riker asked, ignoring the doctor's outburst.

"I don't know what they are," Deanna Troi answered, "but I'm certain that they are the source of the fear I sensed back on the station. Whatever those things are, they are a source of terrible fear to many of the other races."

Picard grimly aknowledged that. "They have indeed, Counselor. I still don't understand their motivation behind their terror campaign, and I suspect we aren't likely to find out." He looked around the room. "But one thing is certain, and that is that we must prevent Babylon 4 from being destroyed."

Ezri forced a strained laugh. "And I thought Captain Kirk's time travel adventures were confusing."

Ever concious of the military aspect, Worf was the first to bring up another important issue. "Captain," Worf rumbled, "what do we know about the military capabilities of these Shadows? Those fighters did not appear to present a serious threat, but if things have been altered, can we successfully engage one of their capital ships?"

Picard frowned. The thought had occurred to him, and he still had no answer. "I don't know, Mr. Worf," he said honestly. "Their historical records were incomplete in that regard, and we weren't specifically searching for it. But actual first-hand sightings are rare, and seem to be primarily posthumous. Mainly references to unusual events in the Narn-Centauri war, and the sudden destruction of a research facility on Ganymede." He shook his head. "No, we'll just have to hope we don't run into them."

Worf growled, "I do not like this." But he fell silent, clearly leaving the decision up to the captain.

"Wait a minute, I think we're all forgetting something here," Beverly Crusher cut in, drawing several surprised looks.

"What would that be, Doctor?" Picard asked.

Crusher paused and looked around the room slowly. "We know that these M beings are supposed to be altering historical events." She drew a deep breath. "But what happens if they don't take kindly to our trying to fix things?"

For that, no one had an answer.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"What is this thing?" Susan Ivanova asked suspiciously, staring at the small circular machine Zathras handed her.

He passed off another one to Marcus, and ducked his head, even as he bobbed it. "Is time stabilizer. Otherwise, can become... unstuck, in time. Would be very bad." He clicked his tongue then took another box of the devices, and wandered off, handing one to each of the Minbari crew, leaving Ivanova gaping in his wake.

Marcus unobtrusively stepped up next to her. "He is an odd one, isn't he?" At her exasperated look, he stepped back, and threw out his arms in a pose that Ivanova supposed was meant to be dashing, but not entirely successfully. "It's not all bad," he said, grinning, "it goes well with black." He had his time stabilizer hanging on a cord about his neck, and it swung slightly next to his Ranger badge.

Ivanova worked her jaw a few times, but the stinging retort she'd worked up dissolved into a chuckle. "I suppose you're right, Marcus."

"I am?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Any reply she might have made to that was cut off when Lennier announced, "Captain, we are approaching sector 14, and I am detecting two vessels already there."

Sheridan looked up from his own stabilizer, which he'd been trying to find a place for. He finally got it to hook onto the front of his uniform jacket, and made a satisfied noise before turning to Lennier. "Let's see those ships, Mr. Lennier."

Out of a reflex born of habit, Lennier inclined his head in a slight bow, even though from his position, the captain could not see it.

In front of the command chair, a wavering holographic image dropped into view, obscuring the front half of the bridge.

Sinclair's eyebrows made a sporting attempt to reach his hairline. "Well I'll be..." He grinned sheepishly. "To tell you the truth Captain Sheridan, I didn't entirely believe you about those people, even after meeting them."

Ivanova harumphed. "That's them. That little one there was the same one that just sort of popped out of nowhere near Babylon 5."

"They certainly are strange looking enough," Marcus commented.

Sheridan had to agree. He hadn't had a chance to get up to CnC before they'd had to depart, so he hadn't seen them before. Granted, he expected to see an unfamiliar ship design, but nothing like this. The lines on the big ship, Enterprise, made no sense from his perspective. It looked like no other warship he'd ever seen, although it had a dangerous sleekness to it. It was small compared to his old command, the Agamemnon, and the hull glistened with a metallic whiteness unlike any other ship he'd ever seen. With some disapproval, he noted the large number of windows dotting the hull, and the extremely exposed position of the two pylons jutting out from the aft end. Those were certainly not features he'd be looking for in a ship that was expected to wind up in combat, even if it was not specifically a warship. 

The smaller of the two vessels though, actually smaller the the White Star by a fair margin, Sheridan noticed with some surprise, was something closer to what he would expect of a heavy attack ship, or frigate. It had a tough, bulldogish quality about its snub-nosed design. Its coloration was different too, a darker grey and paneled look that more closely resembled something Earthforce might have built. But both were spangled with the same chevron insignia that Picard's communication pin had been shaped in.

Zathras broke into Sheridan's thoughts with an aggrieved complaint. "Could be problem, yes. Zathras bring time-stabilizers for you, and you, and you, and you," he said, pointing around the room. "Bring enough for whole crew. Not bring enough for them," he gestured at the screen.

"Then how are they supposed to help us?" Marcus asked disbelievingly. "I mean, they have to come through with us, don't they? Or are they just going to sit out here and send us encouraging messages. Maybe with candycanes and little red bows?"

"Ah, Zathras not know. Draal tell Zathras many things, but Draal not tell Zathras many other things." Zathras clicked and moved off, shuffling towards the front of the bridge, momentarily disrupting the holoscreen as he passed through it.

Marcus looked over at Sheridan expectantly, and the captain shrugged weakly. "Draal must have known something if he knew these people were coming, and didn't send enough equipment."

"Of course he would have," Delenn added reprovingly. She smiled up at him, and Sheridan felt like her was being pulled into her green eyes. It was almost hypnotic. 

"Captain, we are being hailed by the Enterprise," Lennier said from behind them.

Sheridan started, and looked over his shoulder. "Put them on, Mr. Lennier." He looked back at the slightly shimmery disply as the view of the two Starfleet vessels was replaced by a familiar grim visage. Looking not unlike a king on his throne, Jean-Luc Picard was ensconed in his own command chair at the center of a more utilitarian bridge, surrounded by a number of other officers, including a few he recognized on sight.

Picard spoke, but his movements seemed disjointed, and lines of static scrolled through the image. "Gree---s ---tain Sheri--. We-- -----iencing difficulties wi-- --- -ommuni---"

Sheridan scowled at the barely intelligible transmission, and glanced back at Lennier. 

The Minbari shrugged, and replied to the unasked question. "I do not know what is causing the interference Captain. Perhaps the proximity of the time rift is scrambling transmissions."

At that moment, the image on the viewer snapped a few times, and the static vanished. Lennier shrugged. He had not had time to do anything.

"My apologies, Captain Sheridan," Picard said wryly. "Our normal means of communication are very different from your own, and coupled with the interference from the temporal anomaly, well... you saw for yourself. But Commander Data assures me that those hurdles have been overcome."

"Glad to hear it, Captain," Sheridan replied truthfully. "But it seems we have another problem. I don't quite understand it all myself." He hesistated, and looked around, quickly spotting his target. "Zathras!" he called. "Tell Captain Picard what you told us."

Picard's face betrayed no emotion as the small weathered alien shumbled into view. Sheridan briefly and annoyingly found himself faintly envious of that stoic exterior, which was no doubt developed through more first contact situations than he could hope to match. He'd always wanted command of an Explorer, although that desire had dimmed somewhat in the past two years in command of Babylon 5.

Zathras bowed slightly to the image of the Starfleet captain. "Zathras is being pleased to meet you. Not know who you are, but Zathras is become used to not knowing." He clicked his tongue, and lifted the time stabilizer from his own ragged tunic, holding it up for inspection. "Draal give Zathras many time-stabilizers. Enough for whole crew of one ship. Draal not tell Zathras of three ships. Without time-stabilizer, can become unstuck in time." He made a hollow whistling sound. "Very bad."

To Sheridan's surprise, Picard actually seemed to understand what was going on better than he did, and the Starfleet captain nodded with clear comprehension. Then an idea struck him abruptly, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Of course. Delenn heard the sound, and looked up at him questioningly, but Picard's next words confirmed Sheridan's suspicions.

"That's what we were given to understand by our own companion, Junior, Mr... Zathras, is it?"

Zathras grunted a laugh. "Ah, Zathras no is mister, Zathras just Zathras."

Picard now looked nonplussed. "I see... Zathras, thank you."

"Zathras is glad to be helping. Is least Zathras can be doing," he added with an embarrased gesture.

Picard nodded quickly, then looked back to Sheridan. "Junior already filled us in on that detail, though he didn't see fit to mention what you were going to do about it. We've had some rather unpleasent experiences with temporal anomalies before," he said by way of explanation.

"I see," Sheridan replied, nodding slowly, "so what exactly are your ships going to do without time stabilizers?"

"With some help from Junior, we've modified out shields to withstand the temporal distortions." His voice was light enough, but Sheridan could tell that he wasn't being told everything. Something had Picard distinctly worried.

"Shields?" Ivanova asked. Her tone suggested a great many questions with one word. 

From his position in front of Picard, Data looked up with a sudden keen interest. "Indeed. We have modified our shields to redirect the tachyon emissions from the rift by employing a fascinating -"

"Thank you, Mr. Data, that will be all," Picard testily interrupted.

Jeffery Sinclair finally decided that he'd heard enough. Stepping to the front of the White Star's bridge, he took the forefront. "Excuse me, Captains, but is the end result that all three of our ships can enter the rift?"

"I think so," Sheridan said.

At the same moment, Picard answered, "Quite so."

"In that case," Sinclair said with an air of paternal wisdom, "do you think we could actually get going then?"

For once, both Sheridan and Picard were left speechless.

Sinclair smiled serenely. "Much better." He turned his back on both of them, and faced the back of the bridge. "Lennier, take us in."

The Minbari paused and glance briefly at Delenn for confirmation - she nodded, once. "We are on course for the time rift," he said, when the hesitation had felt too long. "We will enter it momentarily."

A smile creeped across Picard's expression just before the screen shimmered into an image of the radiant time portal that waited for them like some great maw.

The White Star surged forward into the brilliant gateway, with the Defiant racing alongside, and the Enterprise soaring behind them like a guardian angel. And then they were through.

Behind them, unnoticed, a single tiny Starfury emerged from the rift, and tacked off in clear pursuit.

*****

The temporal rift, as they passed through it, looked far too much like the dimensional portal they'd entered that had brought them to this point in the first place, for Picard's peace of mind. But the Defiant and White Star were both still riding in front of the Enterprise, and their presence was oddly comforting.

"Mr. Data, report," Picard commanded.

Data's fingers played across his console, and he never looked up as he replied, "We have entered the rift. The shield modifications are holding, but I cannot garuantee their stability if the shields are overstressed."

"Thank you, Data, I am well aware of that." Picard tried to keep the vexed tone from his voice, but Deanna Troi's expression told him that he hadn't quite managed. But she also understood why, and said nothing, for which he was grateful. Zathras's cryptic comments about becoming "unstuck" in time only added to his concerns. 

When the Enterprise had arrived at the anomaly, Data and Geordi had been conferring over the sensor readings, and concluded that neither Starfleet ship could safely enter the surging currents and flows of space and time that lay within. Junior had arrived then, ostensibly to help the Starfleet vessels overcome that problem. Already having been given more than enough examples of the elder Q's power, he was surprised that their eventual solution was entirely technological. While he knew that judging the attitude of such a being, based on physical appearence that probably wasn't remotely near a Q's true form, Junior's obvious agitation and nervous energy bothered him a great deal. What could make such a powerful being nervous? Picard found himself coming back to the same conclusion each time he thought of it, and he didn't like it. But Junior was clearly disinclined to talk about it, and glancing back over his shoulder, found the boy sitting grimly, yet quietly, in front of one of the secondary engineering consoles.

"Do you have anything yet, Data?" Riker asked sharply, cutting right to the immediate situation, and helping Picard focus his own thoughts away from his brooding.

Data started to shake his head, then perked up in obvious interest. It had always been easy to tell when Data was interested by something, and that was far more true now, as Data's expression broadcast his excitement. "Yes sir, we've just picked up Babylon 4 on short-range sensors. The interference from the temporal anomaly is decreasing at this distance."

"On screen," Picard ordered.

Data complied instantly, and on the main screen, the wash of stars was suddenly superimposed by a space station, clearly designed along the same lines as Babylon 5, and even more clearly recognizable as the same structure that had shimmered into being on Delenn's thousand-year old recordings.

"By the First Mother..." Boral murmured from behind the tactical station.

Riker stroked his chin thoughtfully, and glanced over at Troi to see her reaction. What he saw drew an involuntary gasp of concern from deep within him.

"Captain," she hissed, with an effort that startled Picard. Turning to the counselor, he noticed with some shock that her teeth were bared in an uncharacteristic display of loathing. "There's something else here... something old. Very old." Sweat was beginning to bead on her forehead. "Ancient, and malevolent. They know we're here."

Picard shoved his own concern aside, and gave voice to the thought that had been nagging him since Junior's reappearence. "Is it the M?" If one of those entities was present, he knew full well that there was nothing he or his ships could do to save this reality. And guaging by Junior's behavior, he doubted the young Q was experienced enough in his own powers to stand up to them. What other reason could there have been that Q would not only have left him here, but for Junior to remain and behave as well?

Much to his relief, Deanna shook her head forcefully. "No, I can't even sense the Q's. This is something different."

Riker was clearly less than relieved. He sounded soulsick as he asked, "What's happening, Deanna?"

"They're... calling to me," she whispered in a half-moan. "I'm not a full telepath, I can't block them!" The sweat was beginning to run down her face in rivulets. She tried to say more, then suddenly her eyes rolled up into her head, and she slumped forward.

Riker rushed forward and caught her as she fell. Voice choked with panic, he slapped his comm-badge and shouted, "Medical emergency, beam Counselor Troi directly to sickbay!"

Picard swallowed hard as Deanna vanished, and Riker sagged back into his chair. "I'm sorry, Will," he murmured inadequately.

The first officer only nodded, worry lines deeply etched into his face. But he knew his first priority was still to the ship, and he finally asked, "Do you have any idea what it was she picked up, sir?"

"No, but I can take a fairly good guess," Picard responded, more than willing to change the subject for the moment. "I think we found what we came for, Number One. Ancient, and malevolent, she said. But not M. I think we've just encountered the Shadows."

"That would seem to be a reasonable assumption, Captain," Data chimed in, turning back to look at them. "I have just detected a power signature, moving on an intercept course to Babylon 4."

The image from Delenn's briefing snapped into Picard's mind instantly. "The bomb."

Data blinked and nodded. "Indeed, sir. The power signature reads as a highly energized fusion device." Then he frowned at nothing in particular. "However sir, I am having difficulty locking on to the vessels escorting it. It is now only six hundred kilometers from Babylon 4, and the station will enter the blast range in approximately two minutes and fourteen seconds from now."

"Red alert," Riker commanded, and klaxons began to blare througout the ship. It seemed almost extraneous, since the shields were already raised, and most of the crew had sought their battlestations before entering the rift. But it had the psychological benefit of shocking everyone into full readiness.

Picard turned to look back over his shoulder. "Lieutenant Boral, contact the White Star, and give them the coordinates of that device."

The Bolian hastened to comply, and a moment later, glanced up from his console. "The White Star acknowledges, and reports that they will engage it immediately."

Sheridan pounded his fist into the armrest of his command chair, and swore darkly. "C'mon, faster, faster! Susan, do you have a lock on them?"

The White Star was screaming through space, barreling towards their target for a clean kill. Unfortunately, the target had other ideas, and was already far closer to Babylon 4 than it was to the White Star.

"Not yet, Captain," Ivanova yelled above the howl of the engines. "We'll be in range in another twenty seconds."

"Captain, Babylon 4 will be within the blast radius of the bomb in another twelve seconds," Lennier pointed out.

Sheridan thumped his fist down with a final sound, and looked over to his first officer. "Go to manual Susan, and give it your best shot!"

Ivanova scowled, and said soemthing vulgar in Russian, but hit the appropriate controls. "Going to manual, aye." Then her concentration was focused entirely on the panels in front of her.

Leaping up from the command chair, Sheridan ran to the bow of the bridge, and glared out the windows. At that range, there'd be nothing to see, but at least it made him feel as if he were actually _doing_ something. Stuck in the center seat, he felt too much like a cheerleader, merely hoping things would come out all right.

"Captain, I believe I have determined the reason for our presence here," Data said in a completely flat tone. Obviously, he'd decided to deactivate his emotion chip for the time being. "I have just detected a second energy signature nearly identical to the first."

Another bomb. It was simple, but the White Star alone could never have dealt with both at once. Except the White Star was not alone, Picard thought with a glimmer of anticipation.

"Lock on to it, and bring us to full impulse," he commanded. "The moment we enter range, target those fighters with phasers, and lock a tractor beam on the-"

To Picard's surprise, the voice that interrupted him was not Data's, but Boral's. "Sir," the Bolian intoned, "the White Star has entered the blast radius of the first bomb."

"Belay that last!" Picard said quickly. "Boral, tell Commander Worf that the second bomb is all his."

Riker looked briefly alarmed, as the implications sank home. On the screen, the White Star suddenly erupted into a spitting demon of destructive energy.

Picard set his jaw in a determined look his crew had seen before. So for most of them, it was little surprise when he ordered, "Bring us alongside, and extend our shields around them."

At the back of the bridge, Junior stirred, and mumbled, "Captain?" But his voice was quiet, and went unheeded.

That was just as well, for a moment later, a small sun exploded into being on the screen. The filters popped on almost immediately to cut off the painfully bright glare, but even so, Picard had to blink the spots from his eyes. "_Merdé!" _Picard whispered hoarsely. There hadn't been time to carry out his order.

"It looks like they got the first bomb, Worf," Ezri Dax announced, looking up from her science console. "I just registered a fusion detonation. A big one."

"Understood." Worf had left the center chair vacant and was seated behind the tactical console. He found that he was much more comfortable there, than sitting uselessly in the center of the bridge. "Is the second device in range of the station yet?"

"Well in range," Ezri confirmed.

Worf grunted in reply, and scowled darkly at his own screens, unhappy with what they were telling him. "I still cannot aquire a target lock. Ensign Nog, get us between the station and that device."

"Aye sir," Nog answered, their only warning before Defiant surged beneath them, its overpowered engines outracing the inertial dampeners. The pug-nosed starship rolled hard and bolted towards the location Worf had demanded.

The instant they jerked to a relative halt, Nog whipped the ship to a heading aimed right at the incoming explosive. Worf's hands raced with practiced precision across his console, as he performed several tasks at once, none of them boding well for the Shadows.

Defiant rippled into existence directly in the path of the bomb. The urchin-like Shadow fighters towing it made a futile attempt to evade, and several broke off to launch themselves at the starship. Phaser pulses lanced out and those ships were instantly removed from existence. Several more carefully aimed shots destroyed those still clinging to the bomb, and it was quickly bathed in an eerie blue glow as the Defiant's tractor beam enfolded it.

"Sir, the Defiant reports that they've towed the second bomb to a safe distance, and are preparing to detonate it."

Picard nodded to the tactical officer. "Thank you, Mr. Boral."

Data looked up from his console and turned about, smiling broadly. With the danger over, he'd apparently elected to reactivate his emotion chip. "Captain, I've located the White Star. They've sustained some hull damage, but are completely intact. In fact, the hull appears to be reparing itself. Our experience with organic vessel construction is very limited, and I'd like to study this further."

"Later, Mr. Data," Picard said, managing a relieved sigh.

"Captain," Boral announced, "the White Star is hailing us."

"Onscreen."

A face appeared on the viewscreen, in place of the one Picard had expected to see, one that was sharp but kindly, despite a hint of anxiety in the lines around the the eyes.

"Ambassador Sinclair," Picard started with some consternation. "We thought we'd lost you there for a moment."

One side of Sinclair's mouth tugged upward in grim irony. "No, we're still here, Captain. At least, most of us."

Picard felt a leaden weight drop into his stomach. Data's expression was one of pure apprehension, that nearly mirrored Riker's when Troi had fallen unconcious. Obviously, there'd be only one reason Sinclair, and not Sheridan, would have answered the hail, but Picard wouldn't voice his concerns. "Understood," he said hollowly, and saw that Sinclair knew that he knew. "What happened?"

"The blast wave from that bomb hit us pretty hard. Captain Sheridan's time stabilizer was damaged," Sinclair replied sadly.

A gravelly voice in the background added, "Yes, very bad. He is become unstuck in time."

That was actually better news than Picard had feared. At least this way, there was a possibility, however remote, of recovering Babylon 5's commanding officer. 

Sinclair ignored the interruption, and continued, "Zathras says he might be able to fix the stabilizer. But our main objective now is to get aboard Babylon 4, and attach the larger time stabilizers and jump controls so it can withstand the stress of a thousand-year jaunt."

Picard nodded sharply. He knew from personal experience just how painful being tossed around like driftwood in the tides of time could be. But he also knew that Sinclair was right about their priorities. "Agreed, Ambassador. The Enterprise will move off to avoid detection after we beam over. But the Defiant can take up a position near Babylon 4. From there, after the initial beam-in, our transporters are at your disposal."

Sheridan dipped his head gratefully. "Thank you, Captain."

The moment the screen went blank, something clicked in Picard's mind. His reflection back on his own time-hopping memories reminded him of who had been able to cause such a thing. "Junior," he said, turning to the boy seated at one of the aft engineering stations, "you can-"

Junior stared back ashenly, and sweat glistened on his head as a tremor ran through his body. He looked like Picard had felt after he'd lost the Starfleet Academy Marathon the first time he ran it, back in his youth – like he'd exerted himself to the utmost, only to fail. That sense of failure was chisled into Junior's face, along with something darker.

"I can't," he moaned wearily. "I tried, but I couldn't."

Picard craned his neck so he could watch the boy from his position. "What did you try? And what do you mean you can't?"

"I mean that I tried to erase those bombs from existence the nanosecond we arrived in this time. You know, just a simple" – he snapped his fingers demonstratively – "manipulation of space-time. Even for a young q that's easy." But the godling looked harried, and genuinely worried. "But I couldn't do it! It's M, it has to be."

"You were expecting this, weren't you?" Picard asked in a tone that wasn't questioning. "That's why you insisted on the shield modifications."

Junior seemed to wilt under the captain's glare, even from across the bridge. "I wasn't expecting it, not exactly, but it was a possibility." 

"Dammit, Junior, I should have been told. The next time you think of a 'possibility,' tell me about it!" Picard sighed heavily and turned back towards the screen. "Lieutenant Boral, hail the Defiant."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

There was a contorted sense of detatchment, and a curious weightless feeling. John Sheridan fought through a fog of confusion and sensory deprivation and tried to remember what had happened. A flash of light, and something hit him, hard. Then nothing. Now... still nothing, but at least he was concious.

That last was driven home with painful clarity when he suddenly felt a jarring impact, and his face pressed into a cold marble surface. His eyes slowly focused on an object a short distance away, and gradually realized that it was a jack-booted foot. He struggled for breath, and tried to look around further. A second foot, probably from the owner of the one three inches from his face, slammed into his ribs, and briefly, stars floated tauntingly in front of his eyes.

A familiar voice, contorted by age, and hate, growled, "Welcome back from the abyss, Sheridan. Just in time to die!" The last was nearly howled.

The guards hauled Sheridan up none too gently, and his eyes snapped to the speaker, ancient, white-haired, dressed in the ceremonial white of the Emperor of the Centauri Republic... and entirely impossible. He gasped a roiling mix of shock, fear, disgust, and pity. "Londo!"

*****

Delenn shivered slightly, and shook her arms to drive away the odd tingling sensation. She decided that the unpleasent transporter sensation was preferable to having to cut through Babylon 4's hull, and definately much faster. At least, as long as she overlooked the disturbing notion of having been disassembled, moved elsewhere, then reassembled. She noticed Ivanova patting herself, as if to reassure her that she was still intact, and that her head was facing the right direction.

The corridor they had beamed into was dimly lit by flickering wall panels, and exposed ceiling lights. But the resemblance to Babylon 5 was acute, right down to the color-coded hallway markers. Picard and two of his crew were standing in a small huddle, gazing around intently. The pale-skinned Commander Data held up a small box covered in softly blinking lights, and swivled on his heel, bringing the tricorder in a slow arc about the room.

"Captain, there are no bio-signs within one hundred meters," he announced, flipping the box closed, and hooking it onto a clip on his waist. "It is safe to proceed."

Picard nodded curtly. "Thank you, Mr. Data." Then he turned to Sinclair expectantly.

The Ambassador wasted no time, but turned to his former XO. "Susan, you know what to do."

Ivanova nodded crisply, and grabbing Marcus by the sleeve, dragged him after her as she pelted off down the corridor.

"Delenn, Captain Picard, come with me," Sinclair said. "Once we clear out these decks, we'll have to move quickly."

"Very well, Ambassador," Picard responded gamely. He didn't know what was going on entirely, and Sinclair certainly seemed to. For now, the ball was in his court. "Data, Geordi, stay here and help Zathras with the equipment."

Data nodded, stolid as ever. Geordi shrugged, but aquiecsed. "Aye sir," was all he said. 

"So what exactly are we looking for, again?" Marcus Cole asked innocently after several moments of seemingly aimless wandering through the darkened bowels of Babylon 4.

Susan Ivanova spared him a harried sigh, and explained, "We've got to find an access panel. Usually they're sealed up once the station goes operational, but this place just went online, so with any luck, there should be a couple still open." As she spoke, she pointed at a square metal plate mounted oddly on the wall.

She and Marcus tugged futilely at the plate, which refused to budge to their heroic efforts. Ivanova swore, and kicked the wall in frustration, which served only to annoy her more with a stubbed toe.

"Sorry, I don't believe in luck," Marcus quipped.

"No? Well, luck's about the only thing we've got on our side right now. We sure as hell don't have much of anything else." 

Oddly, her first steps seemed to echo in the corridor. Frowning, she paused momentarily. It was in that brief silence that she noticed that the "echoes" were continuing. Her mind screamed out a warning. _Footsteps! _ She whirled on her companion. "Marcus, we've got to -" The words died in her throat. Marcus was no where to be seen.

"Hey! Freeze!" The shouted command was punctuated by the whines of drawn PPG's. Cursing herself silently, she turned to find two grey-clad security men, with Babylon 4 logos emblazoned on their shoulders, aiming their weapons at her.

She raised her hands sheepishly, and let fly a muttered, "Oh hell."

The beefy guard on her right stepped forward slightly, then glanced around at a quiet metallic hiss. "What was that?"

"What was what?" she replied innocently, knowing full well what it was. Without thinking, she rolled and lashed out, kicking the guard's legs out from under him, and cracking his head solidly on the floor plating. He tried to stand, but she didn't give him the chance, and backhanded him hard enough to spin him around, and drop him to the deck.

Standing, she turned to find Marcus standing over the unconcious form of the second guard. Staring at him, she asked, "Slick move. How did you know they were coming?"

He grinned disarmingly. "Didn't. But now would be the worst possible moment to be discovered, so it was logical it would happen now." He smirked at her incredulous expression. "Like I said, I don't believe in luck." Marcus rested his fighting pike smugly over his shoulder, and leaned back. The pike struck the wall panel, and the metal covering fell off with a clatter, revealing an access panel.

Ivanova's eyes widened. Marcus turned toward the sound, and the satisfied grin dropped from his face. "On the other hand..." he admitted. Ivanova ignored him, and reached into the panel.

It was at that moment that two more PPG's whined from farther down the corridor. "Hold it!" Two more guards stepped forward, having happened on the scene after turning a corner.

"No, I was right the first time," Marcus scowled. "There is no such thing as luck." 

Ivanova muttered a pungent Russian expression her father had been fond of, and raised her hands for the second time. Looking supremely abashed, Marcus followed suit.

Susan decided at that moment that if they survived this, she'd have to tease Marcus about that later. Then she found herself wondering why she was thinking of something like that with a twitchy guard holding a PPG a few inches in front of her nose.

The point luckily became moot, when the second guard, who was sweating heavily, and looking far more harassed than a pair of strange intruders warranted, was hauled bodily off his feet from behind. 

The first guard yelped, and spun indecisively, as if not sure in which direction the greater danger lay. He was still deciding a half-second later when a pair of fists hit the back of his head with all the grace and force of a sledgehammer. His companion, hanging weakly in an iron grip, was thrown into the wall with a jarring thump. He joined his comrades in the Land of Nod, splayed out bonelessly on the floor.

With the bodies of the two guards out of the way, Ivanova gaped shamelessly at the guards' two assailants. The first was slightly taller than she was, dark skinned, and a type of alien she'd never seen before. His forehead was heavy and ridged. At the moment, he was watching her, but she got the impression he was keeping an eye on everyone else as well. But the other was somewhat more familiar, and was the cause for most of the astonishment she was feeling. "Michael!" she blurted. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What," Babylon 5's security chief said with a sardonic grin, "not even a, 'Thanks for saving my butt?'" Garibaldi backed down when Ivanova's eyes flashed challangingly, and conceeded, "Ok, I was on my way back to the station, when I heard that not only had Jeff come along on this little outing without even stopping to say hello, but that these folks here had come out this way before you. To be honest, I didn't trust these guys, and if they'd headed out before you, they could be setting an ambush or something. So I decided to come along and make sure everything was on the up and up."

The big alien next to him scowled at that last comment. "A Klingon warrior does not ambush defenseless shuttles." His voice rang in a commanding bass. Behind him a slim young man strode up from the shadows further down the hall, and Ivanonva belatedly recognized him as the doctor Picard had introduced back on Babylon 5. He ignored the others, and ran a blinking device over the bodies of the guards, then stood, apparently satisfied by what he'd seen. 

"But we did have to borrow three more of your time stabilizers," Worf said, gesturing at the round device that nearly blended in with the thick metal sash that crossed his uniform tunic. "Those three members of your crew are aboard the Defiant." 

Ivanova spared them a glance, but frowned at Garibaldi. "You shouldn't be here. Who's watching Babylon 5?"

Garibalid shrugged. "Zack and Corwin can take care of things for a few hours, and if this place is back," he looked around at their surroundings, and grimaced, "then I figure you're gonna need all the help you can get. Come on, Susan, I've been here before," he added when she looked immovable.

"Then what are you doing with that big fellow there?" Marcus asked pointing to the Klingon. "I thought you don't trust these people?"

"Long story," Garibaldi muttered. "Where's the captain?" He paused darkly at Ivanova's stricken look, and Marcus's flinch. "What?"

Ivanova flexed her hands helplessly, and struggled for the words. "He's lost, Michael."

"What do you mean, lost?" He gestured around. "The walls are color-coded, and the sections labeled. This ain't exactly a maze." 

"It's not so much a matter of where, as a matter of when," Marcus said quietly. 

Ivanova weathered Garibaldi's questioning glare. Lamely, she finally said, "You'd better talk to Jeff. He seems to know more about this mess than anyone." She reached back into the exposed access panel, and slid a conduit casing to one side. "Stick with us, we're going to meet them as soon as I finish here."

Garibaldi chewed his upper lip, then looked over at the Ranger. "Alright then Marcus, she's busy, so start talking."

As the shimmering transporter effect faded, Data stooped and hoisted up two heavy yellow containers, part of the stash of equipment the White Star had brought along. "Perhaps," he was saying, "but I do not believe so. Our present situation may be similar to the incident on stardate 54931.4, when the Defiant was temporally relocated to Deep Space Station K-7 on stardate 4614.7. In that instance, while Captain Sisko and his crew did interact with the timeline, they did not divert its true course, and thus, did not generate a predestination paradox." He paused briefly, and carefully placed the cases against one wall. "It is possible that the interference of the M Continuum will have a similar result, in that we are present in only this timeline, and will have no impact on this dimension's past."

"That's a lot of possibilities and guesswork in that, Data," Geordi LaForge replied thinly. Then he shrugged and grinned. "I don't have another answer for you though."

They worked for several minutes more in silence, shifting the cargo containers to one side, then signaled another transport. There was a lot of it, and it occurred to Geordi, not for the first time, that he didn't know what it was. Zathras was less than forthcoming with details.

Unsurprisingly, it was Data who spoke again. "Geordi," he began in a curious tone, "I have noticed that since our arrival on this station, you have not been operating at peak efficiency. Are you unwell?"

Geordi frowned and shook his head. "No, I feel fine, Data. Unless you count nervous tension, of course," he chuckled.

"Nervous tension?" Data asked, setting down another box. "Is that an emotion? I do not appear to be experiencing any emotions at this moment." He pondered that for a few seconds, then inquired, "Why would you be experiencing these emotions, Geordi?"

Geordi laughed openly at that, and felt the tension subside. He considered telling the android as much, but decided that could only lead to even more complicated questions. "Well, we're in another universe, meddling in some other people's timline, and we're helping a bunch of people we barely know to smuggle a lot of shielded containers onto a major civilian space station." He paused at Data's lack of reaction, then prompted, "Doesn't that bother you?"

Data opened his mouth to reply, or maybe simply to ask another question. It didn't much matter, as his potential response was cut off when Zathras suddenly clicked happily, and pointed down a short corridor.

Human engineer and android followed Zathras's pointing finger. There, at the end of the short hall, and standing over a broken time stabilizer, John Sheridan wavered in and out of existance. Something dropped from his tunic, and clattered noisily on the deck. He was doubled over, apparently in pain, and appeared to be reaching vainly for what Geordi could now see was the back half of a time stabilizer. The apparition lasted for only a few seconds before winking out entirely. But Zathras emitted an understanding noise, and dropping the container he had been carrying, hurried off towards another one.

Geordi and Data blinked, and turned to each other. Data's hand flew to his commbadge. 

A short distance away, Sinclair rushed along another corridor with Delenn and Picard hurrying to keep up. Their footsteps clattered loudly on the deckplates, and Picard found himself making a concious effort to step lightly, although the noise didn't seem to concern the Ambassador. A moment later, he discovered why that was, when they rounded a turn. The shriek and clatter of power tools on metal echoed throughout the hall. No one in there would be in a position to notice footsteps.

Sinclair didn't pause, but continued down the corridor towards the intersection at the far end. As he neared it though, he slowed, and taking a quick glimpse around the corner, motioned the others to silence, and pressed himself up against the wall. Picard and Delenn followed his example.

"This'll do," he murmured, just loud enough to be audible over the racket from the other room. "But we'll need to clear the place out first."

Picard edged around him to peek into the other room, and saw dozens of workers scurrying around with screaming tools, and spitting arc welders. He quickly pulled back to avoid being seen. "What's in there that we need?" he whispered, moving back to a position along the wall.

"Airlock," Sinclair replied softly. Without further ado, he tapped the link affixed to the back of his right hand, and said, "Team one to team two, ready?"

Susan Ivanova's voice crackled over the tiny speaker. "Ready, standby."

Picard edged closer to Sinclair, and asked, "What are they going to do?"

Sinclair grinned at him, and shrugged. "I don't know. But knowing Ivanova, it'll probably be her usual, subtle approach."

Delenn turned to him, and looked like she was going to say something, but thought better of it, and peeked around the corner again. Then she seemed to freeze, and gasped sharply, the blood draining from her complexion.

"What is it?" Sinclair asked, his demeanor suddenly serious.

Delenn paused, and shivered. "I do not know. It was the strangest feeling." She looked up at Sinclair with worried eyes. "I believe the way you describe it is as if someone had just walked over my grave."

"Normally I might dismiss such a sensation," Picard said thoughtfully, "but given our present situation, I'm not so sure. I experienced similar feelings during my own temporal misadventures." He stopped, then started quietly, lost in thought. "The last time, was when I suddenly looked around, and found myself onboard a shuttlecraft with my late security chief Tasha Yar, preparing to take command of the Enterprise for the first time."

At Sinclair and Delenn's blank looks, he qualified, "At the time, you understand, I had been captain of the Enterprise for seven years, and could remember every moment of it, including Tasha's death." His eyes clouded over with a quiet pain at the memory. He still couldn't reconcile Tasha's senseless death at the hands of Armus, despite the fact that he'd lost crew members before and since her. In fact, he remembered all of them. There were so many.

Sinclair evidentally understood all too well from personal experience, and to Picard's surprise, Delenn seemed to as well. He wondered what possible demons from her past she was recalling. They both nodded compassionately though, and he took that in good stead.

Then the quiet moment was shattered by the blare of alarms, howling klaxons audible even over the workroom din, flashing red lights, and a friendly computer voice which announced, "Hull breach in this area. Evacuate immediately. Pressure doors dropping."

Before the warning had even finished, the workers were scrambling for the exits, charging past within a few feet of where the three time-travellers were crouched.

"This is subtle?" Picard asked wryly.

"As far as Ivanova is concerned," Sinclair retorted.

Picard stared at him as the big blast doors squealed shut and locked with a heavy clank. As soon as the ear-splitting racket had stopped, he became aware of thudding footsteps approaching down their corridor. He whirled, seeing Sinclair tense, and absently reached for the phaser that he had left on the Enterprise to avoid being picked up by Babylon 4's internal sensors.

Five people turned the corner at a sprint, and ran down the passage towards them. Picard quickly recognized Commander Ivanova, Marcus Cole, by his distinctive caped uniform, and much to Picard's surprise, they were followed by Worf, Doctor Bashir, and – 

"Micheal!" Sinclair's dismayed exclamation came out like the crack of a gunshot. "What are you doing here?" On the heels of that, a stern, "You shouldn't be here."

Garibaldi looked stung. "What's the matter with you, Jeff? You came through the station without even stopping by to say hello, then head out here with the entire senior staff and try to sneak it under my nose. Dammit, I thought I've earned your trust."

Sinclair visibly deflated. "I'm sorry Michael, I didn't mean it that way. I just don't think it's safe for you here. The last time we came through that rift, neither of us were protected from the temporal distortions. I don't know what effect that might have, and I didn't want to risk it." 

"With all due respect, Jeff," Garibaldi said quietly, "don't you think that's my decision?"

Sinclair nodded slowly. "You're right, and I hope you can forgive me that." Then he paused and extended his hand. "As long as you're here though, I'm damned glad to see you again, Michael."

Garibaldi hesitated, but reached out and shook the proffered hand forcefully. "Likewise, Jeff." A smile split his features, and he stepped back, releasing Sinclair's hand.

"So, how did you get all the way out here?" Sinclair finally asked. "I figured you'd be all the way back at the station by the time you even realized we'd gone."

"Under normal circumstances, I probably would have," Garibaldi admitted. "But when I noticed that the Starfleet ships were gone, I asked Zack, and he spilled the story. I wanted to make sure everything checked out, especially with these people," he said, gesturing to Picard and his officers. "Your stop-off to pick up the White Star let me catch up, and I followed you through. Next thing I know, I see one nuke go off, and the EMP fries half my systems. I was even closer when the second nuke went off, which was a slightly bigger problem."

"His craft was nearly destroyed, and venting atmosphere when we located it. I had Chief Garibaldi beamed directly to the infirmary," Worf interjected.

"With enough absorbed radiation to glow in the dark," Bashir added in an amused tone. "And then," he continued, chuckling, "with one broken arm and violent radiation sickness, he suddenly jumps up, and manages to tackle Worf against the nearest wall."

The Klingon scowled darkly. "I was not expecting resistence from an injured patient."

At Sinclair's raised eyebrow, Garibaldi shrugged sheepishly. "I wasn't feeling too well, and the last person I'd seen wearing a black uniform with a badge on the left breast was our friend Mr. Bester. It was instinct, really." He cut himself short, and shook his head wonderingly. "Stephen would give his right arm to get a good look at the inside of that infirmary, though."

"Excuse me, but did we not have a mission to accomplish?" Delenn's abrupt and commanding reprimand startled the others into silence. "Time is wasting."

"Well, we should have this area completely to ourselves," Ivanova reported, "at least until they can burn through. So figure about an hour."

Sinclair nodded sharply. "It'll have to be enough. Come on, we need to get the equipment." He set off quickly back the way they'd come. Ivanova and Marcus ran ahead to make certain the way was clear. As they walked, Sinclair looked over at his former security chief thoughtfully. "As long as you're here Michael, you can can help me out with a little job we've got to do..."

Geordi eyed the slumped, empty blue space suit skeptically. "Do you really think that'll work?"

Zathras shrugged awkwardly, sending the raccoon-tailed furs on his back to jouncing, but didn't reply.

Geordi sighed, and turned to his fellow Starfleet officer. "What do you make of it?"

Data frowned, and shook his head. "I do not know, Geordi. I have a basic understanding of the principles that govern this temporal anomaly, but the technological base behind that device is unfamilar to me." He looked puzzled, and vaguely annoyed with his own incomprehension.

"I hate to break up the tea-social," Ivanova said acidly, causing Geordi to spin around, alarmed. Data merely looked over his shoulder, and Zathras never looked up. "We still have plenty of work to finish here," she continued, when no response was instantly forthcoming.

Something clicked under Zathras's gnarled fingers, and he looked up crookedly. "Very, very busy. Zathras has idea. Saw him, Zathras did, so Zathras thinks, perhaps power supply, from suit, will help activate time stabilizer. Will not last though," he added mournfully, "then he will be lost again."

Ivanova's incredulous gaze drifted from the strange alien to the Enterprise's Chief Engineer, who shrugged. "That's all we've been able to get out of him," Geordi said. "Where's Captain Picard?" he asked with some concern. "His communicator didn't respond. And is there are hull breach in this section we should know about?"

"To answer your last question first, no, that was our diversion. We had to clear out this deck," Ivanova replied with some amusement. "As for the first question, your captain should be right behind us, though I don't know why you couldn't contact him."

"There! Finished," Zathras announced loudly. He turned back, and pushing through the small crowd that had been watching him work, set off purposefully towards one of the yellow equipment containers. "Now we wait." In another instant, he was out of sight around a corner.

Geordi shook his head dazedly. Data cocked his head, then said, "Zathras is a most intriguing individual."

"Intriguing is not the word," Marcus remarked from the main room. "He's quite mad, you know," he supplied when the others turned to him. He gestured at the collapsed suit. "He actually expects Sheridan to rematerialize inside that thing."

Geordi found he could not disagree with that.

"Marcus, we're stealing a station with the help of people from another dimension to fight in a war that was a thousand years ago," Ivanova said in a rush. "If Zathras is mad, then he must be contagious, because it's spreading."

Disconcertingly, Geordi found he could not disagree with that, either.

Data frowned absently. "Our transporter filters detected no infectious agents on Zathras when he was beamed aboard."

Geordi groaned, well used to his friend's literal interpretations of obvious metaphors. Data was improving, had in fact already contended with the vagaries of slang, and the surreality of dreams, but occasionally, a new phrase still threw him.

Ivanova scowled at the android, and turned back to Marcus. "You know, I've been thinking, Delenn said that their great leader Valen came forward at about the same time, and then Lennier said that Valen was Minbari not born of Minbari. That's always intrigued me. Do you think we'll get a chance to meet him?"

Marcus absorbed all that, and blinked. "I don't know, it'd be an honor, though." At Geordi's confused look, he volunteered, "Valen is one of the Minbari's holiest figures. A thousand years ago, he defeated the Shadows, then formed the Grey Council."

Geordi's quizzical expression begged more, but Data's even voice interrupted, oddly hushed. "Geordi, Commander Ivanova..." he simply pointed.

The blue spacesuit that had been empty seconds before was clearly being supported by a solid form within it. The suit's left arm raised, and waved weakly.

"Captain!" Ivanova covered the short distance in just a couple of strides.

Zathras came back around the corner, and shook his head at the scene. "No one ever listens to Zathras. Quite mad, they say." He picked up a cluster of small grey boxes, and continued muttering, "Is good that Zathras does not mind. Has even grown to like it, oh yes."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Blinking through his own foggy perceptions, Sheridan flailed out for some sense of reality, but his arms refused to work properly. A phrase kept running through his brain like a flashing neon light. _Do not go to Z'Ha'Dûm! _The words meant nothing to him, they simply were. But the voice he latched on to. Delenn. Why? He couldn't remember, and the pain in his head made him want to curl up and sleep.

But someone was shouting. "Captain!" Sheridan wished vaguely that they would stop.

Then something was pulled off his head, and opening his eyes, he found himself blinking and squinting in the sudden light. The world gradually came back into focus, and Susan Ivanova's face leaned into his sight looking concerned and relieved.

The mission. He'd almost forgotten. He needed to find out what was happening.

Ivanova and Marcus helped him to his feet, supporting him from either side as he took several tenative steps.

"Are you all right?" Ivanova asked, the worry creasing her features.

"I feel like I could slip away again at any moment, but yeah, I'm okay," Sheridan replied, trying to chuckle without making it sound forced.

Ivanova didn't reply. She could see him trying to remain upright, but the amount of weight she was supporting gave lie to the words. But as if drawing strength from her, he pulled himself up completely even as she thought it, and stepped forward into the corridor t-junction where their equipment had been beamed in. Geordi and Data stepped back, giving him room to move, clad as he was in the bulky blue suit.

"Where's Sinclair?" Sheridan finally asked.

"Right here." Sinclair had just entered through another passageway, with Garibaldi a step behind him. Both were similarly dressed in identical suits, and Sheridan blinked hard a few times, taking in the sight.

"Michael? What the hell?" He got no further, because Julian Bashir, who'd been hidden behind the bulk of the two suits pushed his way towards the Sheridan, and ran a gently whirring device in front of his nose.

"Welcome back," Sinclair continued. "How was your trip?"

Sheridan tried to ignore Bashir's fussing, and pondered the question briefly, before truthfully responding, "I don't know. I'll have to think about this for a while." Quickly, he changed the subject. "Mr. Garibaldi, what the hell are you doing here?"

Garibaldi clucked his tongue. "I'm getting really damned tired of explaining this. So here's the short, short version; Long story, tell you later."

Sheridan looked askance at his security chief, and blinked. "Uh, right." He shook his head, and turned back to Sinclair. "What's our status, then?"

"We've secured a path to the central power core," Marcus informed him. "We're ready to proceed." 

"Alright then, let's do it," he said with an air of finality.

Sinclair hesitated, and glanced to Bashir, who shrugged, and stepped back, pocketing his medical scanner. "Medically, he's fine," Bashir responded to the unasked question. "I'd like to get him to the infirmary, though, to make certain."

"Later," Sheridan said firmly, noting with some gratitude Sinclair's confirming nod.

"John!" Sinclair stepped aside in the narrow passageway as Delenn raced past him. Picard strode through behind her, nodding quietly to Data and Geordi, and drawing them off to the side.

Delenn beamed as she rested her hands on Sheridan's shoulders reassuringly. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine... now." He paused briefly, and squeezed her arms tenderly when she turned away. "No." He said it without meaning to, but the words were said, and she stopped to favor him with an anxious gaze.

"What is it?"

He cursed his moment's weakness. He couldn't explain what he'd seen until he'd come to terms with it himself. "No, I'll have to tell you later." When she still regarded him anxiously, he urged her back to the beam-in site. "Go on." She did, and he followed Sinclair and Garibaldi quickly, before he could entertain second thoughts.

Picard meanwhile drew his junior officers aside.

"Captain, what happened?" Geordi asked. "Neither of us could contact you."

Picard smiled apologetically. "We were in a rather delicate position, Geordi. I had to deactivate my comm-badge to make certain we weren't given away by an inopportune message."

"A prudent choice," Data said.

"So what did you find out?" Geordi inquired.

"Captain," Ivanova called from the center of the room, where the others were gathered expectantly.

Zathras added his own voice. "Yes, must be hurrying. Station must be stabilized, or will not survive journey."

Picard nodded towards them. "Explanations will have to wait, Mr. LaForge," he said under his breath, as he started walking over to the assembled group.

*****

"How is she?" Will Riker asked, his face reflecting a concern bordering on distress.

Beverly Crusher brushed a lock of strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes, and set down the padd she was holding on the medical cart at the foot of Deanna Troi's biobed. "I don't know," she said with a hint of reluctance. "We've stabilized her, but I'm keeping her unconcious until we can figure out what happened."

"Isn't it obvious?" Riker said bitterly. "There's something out there, probably those Shadow things, that are also telepathic. They attacked her, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it."

"Will, you can't blame yourself for that." Crusher spoke softly. Deanna wasn't going to be woken by mere noise, but it was a habit. "From the files the captain brought back from Babylon 5, Captain Sheridan and his crew have known about these Shadows for a few years,"

Riker's expression lightened. "Actually, from what I heard during that last briefing, Delenn's people knew about these things for more than a thousand years." The self-reproach in his voice slipped a notch at the realization.

Crusher flipped her upturned hands at him. "There, you see? A thousand years, and I don't think even Captain Sheridan knows that these things are telepathic."

"Unless whatever attacked Deanna isn't them, but something else," Riker qualified.

Sighing, exasperated, Crusher retrieved her padd. "She's my friend too, Will. And I'm telling you she'll be fine." She flicked her fingers at him. "Don't you have something else you should be doing now? Like running the ship?"

The corners of Riker's mouth upturned as he said, "At the moment, no. The captain returned from the station a little while ago, and now he's over on the Defiant, supervising. I just had to see how Deanna was doing. I don't know what I'd do if I lost her now," he finished softly, gripping the edge of the biobed tightly. His communicator chirped, cutting him off before he could go further with that thought.

"Bridge to Commander Riker." The voice at the other end seemed oddly strained.

"Riker here. What is it?"

There was a second or two of silence, and Riker frowned. "Sir, it's confirmed, the station is gone!"

The doctor's eyes widened. "Gone?" she asked.

Riker's lips tightened. "Say that again?"

The voice at the other end took a deep breath. "We were monitoring the captain's progress, when we picked up a major tachyon surge. Then Babylon 4 just vanished."

"What about the Defiant and the White Star?"

"They're gone too, sir."

Riker let out a pent-up breath. "Acknowledged. I'm on my way." He forced himself to turn away, and walk towards the exit.

Crusher was suddenly between him and his goal, startling him. "What was that all about?"

"You know as much as I do, Doctor," he said tightly.

"I doubt that," she said, eyes flashing. "I'm usually the last to hear anything. If we're going to start getting pummeled by half the ships in the galaxy, I'd like to know beforehand for once."

He tried to look stern, but it was obvious she wasn't going to move without an answer. "I'll fill you in as soon as I find out for myself."

She stepped back, looking mollified, and sighed when the doors swished closed on his retreating back. It would probably do to be prepared for anything though, she reflected, walking back towards her office at the other end of the sickbay.

*****

"Moving the last piece into the central power core."

Sinclair's voice was tinny over the small hidden speakers in the comm-panel aboard the White Star. Ivanova tried to ignore the distance of the sound as she keyed in the last sequence to the next critical part of the plan. It was easy work, particularly with Babylon 4's outdated computer codes and encryptions, but part of her desperately wished to be out there taking the big risks with three of the best friends she'd ever had.

Zathras chimed in with his own views on the matter, flexing his hands spastically. "Must being very careful. Time-jump system very delicate." He bobbed his head emphatically, and looked squarely at Ivanova. "When finished, station will be stabilized for time travel."

A soft chime sounded on the console as he turned away, and shuffled off on some other errand. Ivanova spared a glance at the display, then reported, "Captain, I've just finished rigging the scanners on B4 to detect a phony alert in the fusion reactor. It should make it look like the whole place is going critical. That should encourage the crew to evacuate so we can move this thing."

"Roger that," Sheridan replied.

*****

The command deck of Babylon 4 was a scene of tightly reined hysteria. First the initial tachyon surge, which had been bad enough. Nearly everyone had experienced one or more sudden black-outs, time where dreams and reality seemed to collide in terrifying ways. Some of the crew had finally passed out, and the small medical staff on board for the workers had been inundated and overwhelmed. The few other civilians aboard, tourists, construction workers, and merchants alike were in a frenzied panic.

This on top of the palpable tensions that had filled the station from the moment it had been brought online. The first three stations had been destroyed immediately after going operational, and there were whispers of a "Babylon Curse" making the rounds again.

Then there had been the explosions. Twin thermonuclear detonations whose EMP's had blown out every external scanner on the entire station. It would be another half-hour at best before any of them were back online.

By that point, B4's senior officer, Major Krantz, felt the situation rapidly slipping through his fingers. Were it possible for him, he figured he'd have been yanking his own hair out hours ago. But things were rapidly going from bad to worse. There'd been a hull-breach alarm in Red Sector, and then four groggy security guards had turned up claiming that they had been attacked. Krantz clenched his fist, certain that someone had boarded them with their sensors down. He couldn't imagine who or why, but he didn't much care anymore, not with the whole station at risk.

His second in command, a heavyset Lieutenant, nearly jumped out of the central pit in the command area, propelling himself around the railings that lined the depression. "Major," he said breathlessly, "we have a twenty-percent energy drop in the power core."

"Increase output," Krantz ordered automatically. But his mind spun, nearly out of control. Just what they needed, one more problem.

The Lieutenant looked flustered. "But sir, the system hasn't been fully checked out yet. We..."

"I know what I'm doing, Lieutenant," Krantz replied assuredly. "Punch it. We can't afford a brown-out if we've got hostiles aboard." _Thirty-six hours_, he thought. It had been only a day and a half since the station had gone online, and everything was already going to hell in a handbasket. 

*****

"Commander, I think we've got a problem." Geordi stepped aside from the console he was watching, making room for Ivanova to see the same readouts he was looking at.

She looked up from a display on the other side of the White Star's spacious bridge, and started towards him, frowning. "What is it?"

Geordi grimaced, staring at the strange Minbari-designed control board in front of him. "I might be reading this wrong," he cautioned, "but this looks an awful lot like a power surge in the station's fusion reactor."

Ivanova's quizzical expression dried up the instant she looked over his shoulder at the board, to be replaced by something close to fear. Her right hand made it halfway to the comm-link bonded to the back of her left when the White Star abruptly lurched, forcing her to grab at the console instead. The shaking continued, the floor bucking like a animal gone mad. 

"Registering a powerful tachyon surge," Data shouted, grabbing a nearby wall-strut for balance. Somehow, he'd retained hold on his tricorder with the other hand, and was trying to read the output on the tiny screen despite the violent quaking around them.

"Zathras!" Ivanova's bellow was loud even amid the din.

The hunchbacked alien pulled himself across a row of control panels, reaching for a newly installed one that was clearly different in design than the rest. "Zathras knows!" He tapped several buttons, then turned to another panel. "Zathras working. Not Zathras' fault."

The ship lurched hard, and he nearly collided with Lennier, averting his motion at the last second to wind up by yet another console. Zathras grunted, and his hand hovered indecisively over one set of buttons. "Aha! This one. Stopping... now," his hand hit the panel, and the shuddering deck was suddenly stilled.

"The tachyon levels have returned to their previous levels," Data announced. He pulled himself away from the wall, leaving behind a set of finger impressions on the metal. "That was quite exhilarating, Geordi, wouldn't you agree?"

The engineer swallowed hard. "That's not exactly the word I had in mind, Data."

Ivanova shook her head at the two of them, and scanned the room quickly. "Is everyone okay?"

Lennier and Marcus simply nodded. 

Delenn took a deep breath before answering, "Yes, yes, I think so." She fixed a questioning gaze on Ivanova. "What happened?"

Zathras hissed quietly. "Time device activated prematurely. Not good. Malfunction."

That was the understatement of the week, Ivanova decided. "So where are we?" she asked him.

"Readings indicate we have moved four years ahead," Zathras replied haltingly.

"Which is exactly when Babylon 4 reappeared the last time!" Marcus added, comprehension dawning on his face.

"Well so far, everything's happening the way it happened the last time, whether we want it to or not," Ivanova countered.

Zathras rumbled deep in his throat. "Danger though. Time system not stable. Very delicate. Must adjust before we try again." He hesitated briefly, before continuing, "Or become forever lost in time. Very dangerous."

"Great, doesn't anything come under warrenty anymore?" Ivanova muttered. She flipped the communications channel open before anyone could respond to that rhetorical question. "Ivanova to Sheridan."

There was an unnerving silence from the other end.

"Captain?"

After a disconcerting pause, it was Sinclair who replied. "He's gone again," he reported matter-of-factly. "And you'd better get up here... there's been a slight problem."

"You can say that again," Garibaldi echoed a heartbeat later, sounding too worn to care about the tired cliche.

Geordi slapped his comm-badge. "LaForge to Defiant."

"Mr. LaForge, what the blazes was that?" Picard demanded without preamble.

Data cut in, much to Geordi's evident relief. "I believe I can explain, Captain. In summary, we have been temporally dislocated to a period four two years prior to our arrival in this dimension, from our previous position six years prior that time. The station was not properly prepared for the jump, and in the process, Captain Sheridan has vanished a second time."

"Ah, that might explain our own problem then, Commander," Picard replied.

"Sir?" Geordi asked.

Picard gave a nervous chuckle. "It seems the Enterprise was not brought along during the jump. The area of effect would seem to be localized around the immediate vicinity of Babylon 4."

"Indeed?" The tone was so flat, Geordi at first thought Data had deactivated his emotion chip. But then he realized the android was simply learning to contain the emotions he did have. In the same expressionless way, he began making arrangements for the use of the transporter. There was still work to be done.

Just before they all dissolved in a sparkle of transporter-effect, Ivanova keyed in a final sequence on her console. "Just setting things in motion," was all she said.

*****

"Major, the reactor core's become unstable," a junior officer warned, as if the flashing red warning lights and screeching sirens, on top of the terrific shaking the station had undergone moments before, weren't enough. "Approaching critical. It's not gonna last very long."

"We have to evacuate."

Krantz looked sidelong at his lieutenant, and felt a wave of anger and desperation fighting to the surface. "No, not after all this!" He realized too late how pleading his tone sounded, and instantly bit off anything else that he might had said.

"Major, if this is as serious as it sounds, we could lose the whole station." The big lieutenant's voice was firm, but took on a reasoning note when he appealed, "We have nearly two thousand workers on board. You don't want to jeopardize their safety. If it's safe, we can come back." He inhaled sharply. "But if it's not..." He let the words hang there, so that they seemed to clatter to the deck like leaden weights.

Krantz's face twisted as he warred with himself for a moment, torn between duty and pride. Duty finally won out. "Alright," he said in a defeated tone. "Send out a distress signal."

A soft tonal chord sounded from one of the instrument panels behind them. "Sir," another officer called out, "picking up another tachyon surge!"

*****

"Report," Riker snapped before the doors had fully opened on to the bridge.

Lieutenant Perrin rose smoothly from the command chair, and stepped to one side. "Nothing new to report, suh," she explained in a soft southern drawl. "The station, Defiant, and White Star are totally gone."

Riker sat heavily in the vacated seat, and scrubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What else can our sensors pick up?"

"Not much," Boral said from behind his tactical station. The Bolian didn't seem tired, although Riker knew that his shift had ended hours ago. "The portal we came through is still there, Commander. But that's all there is."

"Do we have any idea what happened to them? There'd be debris if they'd been destroyed," Riker said, thinking out loud. That idea was a frankly terrifying one, and he was relieved to be able to put it aside.

"Just before they vanished, there was a major tachyon surge," Boral added speculatively. "The same energy signature as that portal, actually. They may have been moved through time."

"Obviously," said a mildly snide voice from the back of the bridge.

"Junior!" Riker turned on the young Q. "Where have you been?"

Junior leaned back against the wall, hands tucked into pockets on his uniform that were certainly not Starfleet issue. "Where I've been is a bit less important than where you are," he remarked. "Or rather, when you are. Draal can't keep the rift open forever, you know."

Riker scowled at the being. Junior's arrogantly assured bearing was a far cry from the helplessness he'd exhibited during the first attack, and it was grating on his nerves. "Explain yourself, Junior."

With a deep, pained sigh, Junior rolled his eyes and shook his head, like a teacher dealing with a willful dunce. "This is so simple an Organian could figure it out. You started in the year 2260, and then you came through the rift. It is now 2254. Babylon 4 and all your playmates have been bounced forward to 2258 because they screwed up. So unless you enjoy it here in 2254, I suggest you take yourselves back through that rift to 2260, and wait for them there."

"If there's been a problem, why don't you just snap us there?" Riker had the satisfaction of seeing the boy flush, and it told him all he needed to know about Junior's current abilities. That lack of power was definately a sore point with him. But Riker found himself wondering how Picard had been able to exercise any control over him. Junior had been rather sociable earlier, and Riker wondered how the captain had managed that. He was finding the kid to be nothing but aggravating now, though.

"It's not a problem. That mistake put them right where they needed to be." After a beat, Junior added, "Call it destiny, if you want. Dad always said that primitive carbon-based life needed to believe in something superior to themselves. I wouldn't have thought that would be a problem for you with me here, though." Much to Riker's annoyance, he seemed to be pondering that seriously.

Lacking any alternatives, though, Riker finally bit the proverbial bullet, turned away from the irritating presence of the young Q, and looked to the young ensign at the helm with a sour expression. "Plot a course back through that rift. Whenever they went, we can't do anything more here."

*****

With the exception of the scraps of boxes and containers they'd brought over earlier, the intersection deep within the bowels of Babylon 4 looked much the same as it did the first time they'd beamed over. The lighting was still poor, but there was the distant commotion of workers who'd finally burned through the blast doors, though they hadn't yet returned to their places.

Ivanova turned at the sound of approaching footsteps from down one corridor, and tensed until she realized that it would only be Sinclair and Garibaldi, coming to meet them. No one else should even know they were there.

Composed as ever, Data was sweeping his tricorder about the room. Ivanova wondered irrelavently if it was glued to his hand. He never seemed to be without it.

The last time, he had quickly declared the area secure, but this time, he frowned when the small object trilled at him. "Commander Ivanova," he said, "I am suddenly detecting another increase in ambient tachyon levels."

The words chilled her, and Marcus started with an alarmed look. She turned accusingly on the stooped alien beside her. "Zathras, I thought you – "

Delenn, who'd been so quiet that Ivanova had nearly forgotten her presence, suddenly staggered, and fell to one knee, the blood draining from her face.

Marcus was at her side instantly, helping her back to her feet. "Delenn, are you alright?"

"Yes, I think so," she said, looking terribly shaken, and still ashen. "What was that?"

"Time flash," Zathras pronounced, drawing not a few incomprehensible looks. "See yourself, forward or backward in time. Told you! System unstable."

He seemed about to say more, but two blue-clad figures came up behind him, eliciting a shocked gasp from Ivanova. "Jeff!" 

Sinclair looked worn, and so terribly old. His face was lined with years he'd never lived through, and his hair had faded to a shock of dirty grey. His eyes seemed sunken, and pained, but shone with as much energy as ever. Garibaldi had gone completely bald, though wrinkles did not yet crease his features. But he also radiated a feeling of weariness and quiet distress. The transformation was palpable, even to Geordi and Data, who'd only first met them earlier that same morning.

"My God, what happened?" Ivanova found herself staring at them, shifting her glance from one to the other and back again, almost morbidly, she thought.

"What was bound to happen as soon as we went forward in time again," Sinclair replied with convincing clarity. "When Michael and I came to Babylon 4 the last time, we passed through the time distortion field without any kind of protection. I always wondered what would happen if we were exposed to the field again. That's why I didn't want you along," he said apologetically to Garibaldi.

The security chief tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I knew the risks when I took you up on the job, Jeff. Well, basically... sort of." He grinned to take the bite out of the words.

"Damn it," Ivanova sputtered, "I swore the last time that the next time this thing showed up, I would go, and make you stay back on the station. Why couldn't you just make things easy on me, and just read my mind?"

Garibaldi chuckled at that, and Sinclair rolled his eyes, though he was fighting a smile. 

"But we can fix it, right?" Ivanova prompted, looking uncertainly between them and Zathras, who hung his head sorrowfully. "I mean, you're not going to keep getting older the closer we get to our own time, are you?"

Sinclair hesitated, and looked away.

"Is he? Are they?" she demanded, facing Zathras.

"Zathras... does not know for certain." He paused, and bobbed his head slowly. "But is good chance, yes."

Ivanova recoiled, although out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Delenn barely reacted to what was for all intents and purposes, a death sentence.

"Either way, we can't stop to worry about this now," Sinclair said firmly. "We've got a job to finish. Sheridan disappeared again just as the field went up."

Delenn certainly reacted to _that_, Ivanova saw instantly, although she quashed that thought fiercely. She was worried about Jeff and Michael, and it was twisting her perspective.

"If we don't get him back soon, we may lose him permenantly," Sinclair was saying, having turned to Zathras. "Is there any way you can fix his time stabilizer?"

The alien pondered that. "I have components. But need equipment. Delicate, careful work," he emphasized.

"I saw a work area when we were out earlier," Ivanova volunteered, hoping for any way to salvage the situation. "They may have what you need there."

"Get to it," Sinclair said. As Ivanova dragged Zathras after her, pushing between Geordi and Data, who had been standing behind them, Sinclair turned to Marcus and Delenn. "I'm going back into the power core to readjust the system. Take Garibaldi, and get back to the White Star to moniter the situation from there. We've got one last shot at this."

"No way, Jeff," Garibaldi protested. "You can't do that by yourself. I'm going with you."

Sinclair frowned, and shook his head. "Not a chance. I can afford to take the chance of another time-jump. You can't."

"What the hell does that mean, you can afford to?"

"I can't explain that now." Sinclair looked troubled, but determined. "You have to trust me on this. Please, Michael."

Garibaldi looked belligerent, but finally stepped back. "Alright," he finally said. "But you still can't do this alone."

Sinclair turned to the engineer from the Enterprise. "Mr. LaForge, I understand you wanted to see one of our reactors up close."

"With pleasure, Ambassador," Geordi replied, grinning hugely. "And I can't say I'd mind getting a look at that time-jump system of yours."

Garibaldi looked faintly rebellious, but finally began stripping out of the suit, and handing the protective garments to the beaming engineer.

"I find I envy you, Geordi," Data confessed at the sudden change in plan. "You will have to tell me about it in great detail when you return."

"Count on it."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"No, no, no.... not good." Zathras mumbled softly, pawing through crates and open trays of tools and other odds and ends. Ivanova had been right about the work area, but the tools he needed were proving less than willing to be found. "No."

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, find what you need and let's get out of here," Ivanova said quickly, coming up behind Zathras, and peering over his shoulder. "We're running out of time."

Zathras paused and turned to her. "Cannot run out of time," he declared certainly. "There is infinite time." Turning back to his rummaging, he continued, "You are finite. Zathras is finite. This..." – he studied the oddly shaped piece in his hands – "...is wrong tool."

Ivanova squeezed her eyes shut, counted to three, and tried to drive out the impatience she felt. As usual, it didn't work.

Zathras resumed his monologue of "no's," picking up small tools and discarding them after a cursory glance. He held out a small widget for Ivanova's inspection. "No, never use this," he pronounced, then dumped it back in the pile, and went back to his mutterings.

"How does it look?" Sinclair asked over the open communications channel.

Marcus double-checked the readout on his terminal aboard the White Star, then replied, "Readings are still unstable." Data leaned over his shoulder, and studied the display. He had been asking Marcus questions about the Minbari technology that the Ranger didn't have answers to, and Marcus was more relieved than he let on when Sinclair's message had given him an excuse to focus on the console.

The communicator pin on Data's chest chirped, and said, "Picard to Data."

"Yes sir?"

"Mr. Data," Picard said quickly, "We have begun tracking seven incoming vessels. Sensor readings are unclear within this distortion field, but if those are more Shadow fighters, you'd better warn Ambassador Sinclair."

"Understood, Data out." Data turned to the Ranger, expression neutral, and opened his mouth to relay Picard's clearly audible message, when another console began emitting a shrill, rythmic cheeping.

Marcus spared an appraising look at Data, with one eyebrow raised.

Garibaldi came up alongside from where he'd been lounging against the upraised captain's chair, upon which Delenn was sitting rigidly. "What is it?"

Lennier strode up to it from the back of the bridge, and activated the link to the two space-suited figures hovering around Babylon 4's massive reactor. "Ambassador Sinclair, I'm picking up something on the external scanners. I'm reading six, no, seven ships coming this way."

"I was wondering when they'd get here," Sinclair replied with a hint of amusement.

Garibaldi scowled, as if his expression could transmit over the audio link to Sinclair's suit. "What are you talking about, Jeff? The only ships that should be here are..." he tailed off as an understanding look came over his face.

"Am I missing something here?" Marcus asked plaintively. "Who's on board?"

"We are," Garibaldi said flatly.

"This is a fascinating development," Data interjected.

Sinclair's voice returned over the link. "That's right. That's me and Michael when we came here two years ago, to answer a distress call from Babylon 4."

"Which means," Garibaldi realized, "that we can't be spotted by them. Lennier, you'd better make sure to keep that station between us and them. I don't even wanna know what'd happen if we saw ourselves."

Marcus's eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step back from his instrument panel. "Good God!" 

"Given our present circumstances, I could not begin to calculate the effects of such a temporal divergence," Data supplied helpfully. "However, the results would be intriguing from a scientific standpoint, presuming that the space-time continuum was not irreperably damaged."

"Intriguing?" Marcus blurted. "You're talking about tearing the universe apart at the seams!"

Data cocked his head, and after a barely noticable thoughtful pause, shivered dramatically. "Indeed. It is a most terrifying prospect." In contrast to his movement, his voice never wavered from its even pitch.

In the subdued overhead lighting, Marcus noticed that Data's skin was not truly a bloodless white, but actually had a golden cast to it. Not for the first time, he wondered what species the otherwise human-looking Starfleet officer was from. "You say that like you hadn't thought of it that way," he said, meaning to be sarcastic.

Data blinked. "I had not."

Shumbling between shadows in the darkened equipment bay amid a metallic clatter, Zathras stole between the large bins of construction tools, picking at pieces here and there. Ivanova had left him a few moments before, finally fed up with his steady ramblings and mutterings. But he was quiet now. The work on Sheridan's time-stabilizer was nearly complete.

He grunted softly as his hand closed around a necessary ratcheting device. He deftly inserted it into the appropriate place on the center of the small round machine, and twisted it gently. Small lights lit up with in it as it emitted a soft beeping. He gave it a few more turns to be sure, then set the tool down, satisfied with his handiwork.

The sound of an opening door didn't immediately register on his conciousness, so focused was he. But the sounds of a half-dozen activating PPG's was somewhat more insistent. Zathras turned slowly to face the guards, quickly slipping the repaired stabilizer deep into a pocket. He raised his left hand, palm out, and waved half-heartedly. "Ah... hello," he croaked, punctuated with a dismayed clicking of his tongue.

"So let me get this straight," Marcus was saying. "It had occurred to you that a major paradox could destroy the entire universe, but it somehow _didn't _occur to you that this was something to be even slightly worried about? Perhaps even something to be stark raving terrified of?" He stared at Data with frank incredulousness.

Data looked vaguely troubled. "Not until you mentioned it. I have documented more than three hundred and twenty distinct emotional states, but I must confess that they are new to me."

"New to you?" Marcus gaped at him, and looked to Garibaldi for support, but the chief had wandered over to Lennier's station and was staring intently at the displays. "How can emotions – "

Something on Lennier's console trilled loudly, cutting him off. Marcus was mentally grateful for the interuption. The conversation had been getting too downright weird for his peace of mind.

"We've got a problem," Ivanova's harried voice said over the speaker. "They've got Zathras." There was no need to specify who "they" were. "How're the repairs going?"

Marcus scowled, and changed his mind. He'd rather a strange discussion with Data than news like that. "Slowly," he replied to Ivanova's last question. "We may have it in another..."

"One point one-seven hours," Data finished.

"That's too long," Ivanova said bluntly. "What if I can adjust the power from CnC?"

"Great idea if you can get there," Marcus replied.

"I can do it," Ivanova said confidently. Then her tone changed as she added, "I've got company, gotta go," and broke the link.

"This is not a critical problem," Data said, eliciting a snort from Marcus.

"How do you figure that?" the Ranger asked.

Data's face was carefully neutral, but Marcus could see a hint of childlike glee flit across it. "The transporter has a record of Zathras's pattern. We can beam him directly out of their holding cell."

Marcus blinked when Data declined to move. "Well?" he prompted. "Go ahead!"

"No."

Garibaldi's sudden and flat rejection of the idea brought them both up short, and he shook his head at them. "No, you can't do that."

"Why not?" Marcus asked incredulously.

A distant look appeared in Garibaldi's eyes. "Because we met Zathras, two years ago. If you pull him out of there now, you're gonna turn the timeline into a pretzel."

Marcus and Data stared at him blankly, and he snapped, "You two were just talking about this! Something about fragging the entire universe..." He trailed off when Data inhaled sharply, and Marcus's mouth formed a silent, "oh."

Delenn looked to be mulling over an idea, silent during the perplexing discussion, then abruptly stood, and made her way over to Data, drawing him aside. "Lieutenant Commander," she asked in a low voice, "I would like to be transported back to Babylon 4. It appears they will require my assistence."

Marcus, Garibaldi, or Lennier might have argued, but only the former two were in earshot, and they were still arguing. Data simply nodded, said, "Yes, Ambassador," and reached for his commbadge.

*****

"It started twenty-four hours after the station went operational," Major Krantz informed his counterpart. "We started noticing discrepencies in the time-track system – we thought it was a computer glitch, but then all hell broke loose."

Following the Major closely, Commander Jeffery Sinclair shared a glance with his security chief, before turning back to the distraught commander of Babylon 4. "Anything else unusual happen before the station vanished?"

Krantz grunted in something close to amusement. "Yeah, this." He nodded off down a side corridor, and strode down it with his guests in tow, deigning to say more, because he had no words for it.

*****

Compelled by nothing more than an unshakable feeling, Delenn shook her head softly as the transporter effect died away, depositing her back in the same drab stretch of hallway that had been their first sight of Babylon 4's interior. It was still dimly lit, and quiet as the grave, the workers no doubt scrambling to evacuate, or occupied with far more important tasks.

She could not explain the feeling that had demanded her presence here, but she had long ago learned that such impressions could be too important to disregard casually. But once aboard the station, she no longer knew what to do.

At least, until a figure shimmered into existence at the end of the hall, only a few meters away. The blue space-suited figure was unmistakable – only three people were wearing such a suit, and only one of those had vanished in the first place.

Sheridan was sitting on the crate at the corridor's end, much as he'd been when he'd reappeared there earlier. But this time, he almost immediately slumped back against the wall, apparently unconcious. It looked as though each successive movement through time was becoming increasingly dangerous for him, and Delenn quickly considered her options.

There weren't many.

But finally, driven on by a fear for him, and not knowing how long it might take to recover the repaired stabilizer from Zathras, she came to a decision, and cast aside all the doubt in her mind. Delenn reached for Sheridan's helmet.

*****

"He says his name is Zathras." Krantz stepped to one side just within the doorway, allowing Sinclair and Garibaldi to enter beside him. In front of them, sandwiched between two security guards, and pounding the desktop rhythmically, sat a stooped, scruffy alien clad in what appeared to be piled rags and furs. "We don't know how he came aboard, where he came from, or what race he is," Krantz explained. "I've never seen an alien like him before."

Zathras paused in his incessant tapping, and on looking up, gaped in transparent surprise. He stood, staring at Sinclair, and voiced a low, "Oh!" Then the look on his face inexplicably lapsed into understanding, and determination. "Ah," he hissed, dropping back into the hard metal chair. He waved one dirty hand in Sinclair's face, and shook his head spasmodically. "Not the one."

"Not the one what?" Sinclair asked, the confusion clear in his eyes.

"No, not the one," Zathras repeated. "Won't talk. Can't talk. Not the one. They told me, they did. Zathras listens, he does, yes. Zathras listens, and does what he is told."

Underneath the wailing of the alarms, Ivanova could hear commands being shouted from inside Babylon 4's control center. But finally, it looked as if they were leaving.

"Let's move out; move out!" The stocky lieutenant in command was proceeded by the remainder of the crew, who hurried out with professional haste. After a last despairing glance around the now empty command area, the lieutenant followed his people out, brushing past within inches of the corner Ivanova stood behind.

When their footsteps had receeded, Ivanova let out a breath she had been holding out of a groundless fear of being heard over the blaring alarms. With B4's CnC emptied, her chance had arrived, and she took it, quickly slipping around the corner and into the room that was so eerily similar to the one she'd been in charge of just that morning.

The link affixed to the back of her left hand chirped obediantly when she tapped it. "Ok, I'm in," she announced. "Here goes." She crossed the room and began to work on the master console.

"Zathras warn, but no, no one listen." Zathras punctuated his remark with several disapproving clicks. "No one listen to poor Zathras, no."

Sinclair's eyebrows arched, and he shared a disbelieving glance with Garibaldi, who merely snorted. Krantz scowled, and cleared his throat gruffly.

"Great war. But, great hope of peace." Zathras emphasized the last, then lapsed into a stretched hesitation. "Need place. Place to gather, to fight... to organize."

"You need Babylon 4 as a base of operations in a war, is that it?" Sinclair asked bluntly. 

Zathras clicked and bobbed enthusiastically. "To help save galaxy, on the side of light. So they tell me. Must have. Or it is the end of all." His already scratchy voiced had dropped menacingly for that statement. "The One leads us. The One tells us to go, we go."

Sinclair tried to think of something to say to that, but was honestly stumped. The door behind them slid open, saving him from having to try.

"Major, it's back," gasped a bearded security officer, leaning through the doorway.

Krantz swore, and followed the guard back towards the station's main corridor. Sinclair and Garibaldi turned from the suddenly forgotten prisoner, and hurried after the major.

Freed from scrutiny, Zathras grabbed the opportunity, and bolted for the door, leaving the two surprised guards in his wake.

Out in the hall, the guards and workers were drawn up in consternation, staring fearfully at the center of the wide hall. Fading in and out of visibility, a figure in a blue space-suit, twitching and convulsing as if in great pain, sank to one knee, right hand outstretched towards a stunned Sinclair.

"What the hell?" he asked, rhetorically, since clearly none of the others knew any more than he did.

Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind, and he only belatedly realized it was Zathras, somehow no longer in custody, the guards in pursuit having stopped short at the sight of the apparition.

Zathras pointed and displayed a snaggletoothed grin. "It is the One!"

*****

Leaning back from the master situation console, Ivanova tapped her handlink, and announced, "Ok, that should do it. I've got control of the core. If you're finished down there, back off, because I'm gonna start her up."

The link crackled, then Geordi's voice came back. "Copy that, Commander. We're on our way back."

*****

"Commander, don't," Garibaldi warned, when Sinclair took a tenative step towards the fluctuating figure. 

Sinclair ignored him, and approached warily. The person in the suit, who's features were obscured by the dark tinted faceplate, reached out slowly. Fascination won out over caution, and Sinclair tried to touch the outstretched hand.

He was aware of his own hand passing through the phantom's, and then there was a flash of light, and a powerful force hurled him backwards, propelling him through a stack of crates. He hit the ground heavily, and yelped at the impact.

"Commander!" Garibaldi shouted even as he sprinted over to his fallen friend.

The commotion provided enough of a distraction for Zathras to push his way past Major Krantz, and run over to the flickering apparition unhindered. He yanked the repaired time stabilizer from his pocket, and held it up, stopping just inches away from the phantom. "Fixed! Zathras fixed! Take – hurry!" Still babbling, he dropped the device into the figure's cupped hands, where the person, space-suit, and stabilizer, vanished back into the ether.

Garibaldi helped Sinclair regain his feet, and Zathras rejoined their group despite a withering glare from Major Krantz. The overhead lights flickered, and power systems all over the station shut down. The ever-present hum and buzz of active circuits died away.

"You must leave now," Zathras said, gesturing at the remaining members of Babylon 4's crew. "Finished, we are. There is no more time. Leave, or be trapped here, forever," he warned.

*****

Marcus shrugged off the tingling of the fading transporter effect with distinct distaste. He found the sensation wholely unpleasent, and in spite of the obvious convenience, devoutly hoped that they wouldn't have to make too many more trips with it. From the way Garibaldi shivered, he got the distinct impression that he wasn't the only one.

He looked around quickly, allowing his eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of Babylon 4's lower decks, after the more suitably well-lit White Star bridge – so it was Data, standing beside him, who first noticed the pair of human legs sticking out from behind a corner near where Sheridan had reappeared earlier. 

Upon turning the corner, Marcus stopped short in astonishment, and Captain Picard, who had joined them from the Defiant, nearly collided with him.

On the deck, Captain Sheridan groaned and tried to prop himself up against the wall, shaking his head woozily.

Marcus knelt down beside him, and with Garibaldi's assistance, helped Sheridan into a more upright position. "What are you..."

"I don't know," Sheridan said groggily. "The last thing I remember was... appearing here a little while ago." His head was clearing rapidly, and with sudden urgency, glanced down at the time stabilizer afixed to his uniform jacket. "Then I passed out," he continued softly, reaching down and examining the small round machine.

"He must have fixed it," Marcus concluded uncertainly.

"Negative," Data stated flatly, brandishing his tricorder. "This device shows no signs of damage, and as a manufactured device, any repairs would be immediately apparent. I can detect none."

"Are you certain about that, Data?" Picard asked.

Data ran the tricorder over the device again. "Positive, sir. There are no indications that this particular stabilizer was ever damaged."

Marcus frowned, but nodded reluctantly. The tiny readouts on Data's tricorder meant nothing to him, so he simply shrugged and accepted the assertion. He was relieved to note Sheridan also nodding in agreement with Data's assesment.

"Someone must have put this on me... switched places," Sheridan said thoughtfully, furrowing his brow.

"Well if you're here," Marcus said, "who's out there running around in a blue suit?"

"I can take one good guess," Garibaldi said darkly.

Sheridan seemed to focus on him for the first time, and rubbed his eyes blearily, staring at his security chief's aged condition. "Micheal, what happened to you?"

*****

The floor of the main corridor jolted unexpectedly as Sinclair led Major Krantz and his people to the last evacuation shuttle. The power drain that had hit moments before had decided the issue, and even Krantz had finally agreed that it was time to get out, while the getting was good. The fusion core didn't seem as if it could last much longer, and the other shuttles and the fighter wing had already departed at best possible speed.

But for shockwaves to be coursing so deeply within the station, with such power, the core must be entering the final stages of meltdown, putting out more energy than the saftey systems could handle. The motion provided incentive to redouble their speed, but the now shuddering floor only hampered them more.

Torn loose by the violent motion, a heavy support strut detatched from its moorings against the wall, and collapsed, falling directly across Zathras, and pinning him to the deck.

Sinclair bounded over it, and hauled upwards, trying to free their strange prisoner. Several of the security guards tried to help, all the while looking about nervously at the flickering wall lights and quaking surroundings. The beam was exceptionally heavy though, and defied their best efforts.

"We've got to help him!" Sinclair bellowed, straining to budge the massive piece of framework.

Krantz stared at him, wide-eyed. "It's too late! We gotta get out of here!"

"We can't just leave him," Sinclair hissed, glaring at the major.

Leaning forward, and grabbing Sinclair's shoulders to pull him away, Krantz shouted back, "You think I want to? We have to leave now, with or without you!" His words were punctuated by a plummeting girder which clanged loudly on the deck only a few feet away. He paused for a second, but when Sinclair failed to move, he turned and ran for the docking bay. His security guards followed suit, leaving Sinclair alone with Zathras.

"Go now. Leave me!" Zathras implored vainly.

Sinclair shook his head, and strained again against the crushing weight. "I can't."

"Go, you must! Listen to Zathras. You have a destiny! Go. Go now. Go, for Zathras!"

Inhaling deeply, Sinclair gripped Zathras's shoulder in an unspoken farewell, then turned and bolted for the docking bay. He liked to think of himself as being pragmatic, and this talk of destinies struck him as fanciful, but Zathras seemed determined to stay, and he knew that Garibaldi would keep the shuttle waiting only so long.

Alone with the squealing of overstressed metal, and the hissing of exposed circuitry, Zathras relaxed, and stared upward at the ceiling, contemplating the many things he knew, the secrets of the Great Machine, those who were the One, and even his own fate.

Idly, he noticed that the station's spasmodic quaking was subsiding, although the decking beneath his back still trembled. A blue-clad leg entered his vision then, and he looked up gratefully into the blank helmet visor that showed only himself, distorted in reflection.

Zathras smiled dazedly, staring upwards into the expressionless mask. "Zathras knew, you would not leave him," he said, seeming to squeeze the words out past the strut compressing him to the deck. "Zathras trusts the One."

Removing the cumbersome helmet, Delenn returned Zathras's gaze, though a troubled shadow lurked in her eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Delenn started, hearing the sounds of footsteps behind her, clanking heavily on the deck. She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder, to see two figures, suited as she was, enter through a side passage. They both hesitated before stepping closer to where she stood next to where Zathras lay trapped.

Sinclair tucked his helmet under one arm, and drew up beside Delenn. He looked haggard, worn, and so terribly, terribly, _old_, she thought sadly. His hair was nearly a shock of white, and the lines that etched his face were deep and many. But his eyes were still keen as he glanced between her and Zathras, with a regard that held a sense of understanding, tinged with further confusion. She wondered how much, if anything, he'd overheard.

Behind him, Geordi LaForge's startingly blue eyes were fixed on Zathras's predicament. He pulled off his heavy gloves, and knelt down beside the alien. "Don't worry, we'll beam you right to Defiant's sickbay," he said reassuringly.

Squirming, Zathras shook his head. "Zathras ia not hurt. But Zathras being very stuck." He clicked in apparent frustration. "Do not take Zathras. Zathras must stay here. Must follow the One."

Geordi's eyes narrowed, but he squeezed his commbadge as he drew it out from where he'd secreted it in a pocket on the outside of the space suit. "LaForge to Data."

"Data here. What is it, Geordi?"

"We could use your help over here. Zathras is pinned down in the station's main hallway. He refuses to be beamed out though. Think you can get over here now?"

Geordi could have sworn he heard amusement in Data's tone when he replied, "Affirmative, Geordi, we are already on the station, and in your vicinity. We will be there momentarily."

__

We? Geordi thought curiously.

True to his word, Data tramped through an upper level doorway, and walked down the short flight of stairs, followed by Marcus, and to Geordi's surprise, Captain Picard.

"Captain!" he exclaimed.

"Mr. LaForge," Picard said, "Have you finished the modifications to the station's reactor?"

Geordi stood, turning to the captain, as Data and Marcus stepped to either side of the fallen beam. "Yes sir, this place should be ready for a controlled jump any time now."

Marcus eyed Data from across Zathras's prone body, and the thick pillar that pinned it. He tugged up on it experimentally, but it refused to shift. "I think if we all take it from that end, and lift, Delenn can pull him out from..." he trailed off, gaping.

Gripping the pillar just above Zathras' head, Data squatted, then stood, lifting most of the strut well clear of the ground with no sign of exertion. "Marcus," he said, glancing down at the sputtering Ranger, "You should be able to free him now."

"How did you -?" Marcus stared at him, trying to stammer a question, delaying long enough that Delenn finally stepped in and hauled Zathras free of the massive beam.

Sinclair glanced sideways at Picard, who was grimacing at his officer, then turned back to Marcus. "Come on," he said tiredly, "Ivanova is waiting for us in CnC."

"Data," Picard said flatly, motioning for him to put down the strut. He looked over at Sinclair, and said, "Agreed. We found Captain Sheridan, and he and Chief Garibaldi went directly to the command center." He regarded Delenn with some amusement, and added, "And I can see by your current atire that he may want to have a word with you, Ambassador."

Smirking ever so slightly, Delenn replied, "In the fullness of time, Captain." Without another word, she shucked the space suit, and strode with great dignity towards the nearest lift.

Sinclair shrugged, ran a hand through his snowy hair, and with a pained sigh, followed Delenn with Zathras close at his heels.

"Geordi," Picard said, turning back to his chief engineer, "Once you get out of that suit, get back to the Defiant, and prepare for departure. I'm given to understand that our job here is nearly complete."

The engineer smiled. "I'm on it, Captain." He began pulling the suit off, which was a remarkably simple proposition with the loose two-piece garment. 

Picard nodded, and set off in the direction of the lift. "Mr. Data, Mr. Cole," he called without looking back or breaking stride, "we'd best not keep the others waiting."

"Data," Marcus remarked as they tailed after Picard, "How did you lift that beam back there? I've seen some strong races before, hell, I've fought Minbari... but what you did back there was way out of even their league."

Cocking his head, Data frowned. "It was not an easy task, if that is what you are asking. The servo-motors in my upper arms were at sixty-three percent of capacity."

Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, and Data stopped and turned after another step when he did not hear another footstep from the Ranger. "The _what _in your arms?" Marcus abruptly decided the blunt approach was most likely to yield some answers in this case. "What race are you from anyway? No government I've ever heard of would admit to outfitting soldiers with mechanical implants."

Data visibly pondered the question for a moment, staring at the ground, though his golden eyes roamed, and he blinked several times. "I suppose, I am a species. To my knowledge, only one other Soong android currently exists." He sounded so despondent, Marcus almost missed the critical word. Almost.

"Android! Do you mean to tell me that you're a bloody robot?" Then a more critical thought hit him. "And I never noticed?"

"Technically accurate, as I am an artificial life-form – although I find I prefer the term 'android.'" 

Looking uncomfortable, Data pointed towards the lift doors, just as Sinclair called out from within, "Marcus!"

"Coming, Entil'Zha!" Shooting the robot – android, sorry – a wary glare, Marcus entered the lift, never taking his eyes from Data. 

"What is it, Marcus?" Delenn asked pointedly as the lift doors slid shut.

Marcus hesitated, before answering truthfully, "I don't quite know, Delenn. I'll have to think it over a few hundred more times."

She gave him a puzzled look, but didn't press the issue.

Ivanova stared tensely out the main observation window of Babylon 4's command deck. She'd finished the modifications to the main control panel, but instead of relief that their mission was nearly complete, she felt a creeping anxiety. Whenever it got as quiet as it was now, it made her nervous. The big booms always come when the end is in sight, she thought cynically.

So it was that when the doors whined open behind her, she jumped, before recalling that the station had been completely evacuated. Jeff and Picard's crewman were supposedly done with their work, so she had a pretty good idea of who the intruder was. "Finally done with that reactor, Jeff?" she called out without turning away from the view of space.

"As a matter of fact, he is, Commander."

Ivanova spun around at the amused tone, and exclaimed, "Captain!"

Sheridan grinned at her reaction, and stepped aside so Garibaldi could enter behind him. "Are the time controls rigged up yet?"

"Ah... yes," Ivanova answered slowly, then hesitated. "Captain, how did you get back here? Last I heard, Jeff was making dire predictions that we might lose you entirely, unless Zathras fixed the time-stabilizer. And I know he didn't finish that before station security grabbed him."

"I'd like to know that myself, actually, Commander," Sheridan said with a worried frown.

Garibaldi sat down on the railing that ringed the command pit, and looked up at her. "We think someone must have switched places with him. And I have a pretty good idea about who."

"Why didn't you mention that before, Mr. Garibaldi?" Sheridan asked, sounding put-out.

Swinging his right leg experimentally, Garibaldi winced. "I wasn't expecting arthritis for another few years yet," he complained.

"Michael," Sheridan began in a warning tone.

Sighing, Garibaldi replied, "I think the culprit will probably want to tell you herself. Far be it for me to interfere..."

"Michael, you specialize in interfering," Invanova remarked in a vexed tone.

Sheridan refused to be distracted. "What do you mean, 'herself?'" Almost as soon as he said it, he paled, understanding. There was only two "hers" who'd come aboard, and one of them was standing right in front of him. "Delenn!" A cold hand seemed to close around his heart, and his throat constricted. "My God, why didn't you tell me?" he demanded accusingly of Garibaldi. "If she's out there, if she's slipping through time like I was... We've got to do something!" He broke off his tirade before it had even had a chance to warm up, when he noticed Ivanova covering her mouth, and trying to stifle a chuckle.

Her reaction was dumbfounding enough that Sheridan was left speechless until a soft and decidedly feminine voice from behind him said, "Your determination is flattering, John, if misplaced."

Sheridan spun to face Delenn, who'd entered the room with the others in tow. While Sheridan worked his jaw in a futile effort to say something intelligible, Sinclair grinned at his discomfiture, and Geordi looked mortified. He'd realized only too late that while talking to Data earlier, he hadn't told them about finding Delenn.

"How..?" Sheridan finally managed weakly.

Zathras clicked his tongue and chuckled gruffly, before pointing to the time-stabilizer Delenn wore. "Zathras fixed time stabilizer." He drew himself up proudly, bringing his head nearly to the level of Sheridan's chin. "Was very difficult, but Zathras is knowing what he is doing. Yes."

Nodding mute thanks to the alien, Sheridan looked back at Delenn. "Dammit Delenn, why? You could have been lost permenantly!" He was trying to sound angry, but his voice was rough with relief.

"When I came upon you, you were unconcious. Being unstuck in time was hurting you. I decided, quite rationally, that in your condition, another time jump might have killed you, and I could survive where you could not," Delenn said defiantly, tilting her chin up at him. 

"Quite logical," Data concluded. Marcus gave him a fishy stare, but nodded reluctantly.

Sensing that Sheridan was building up for another outburst, Picard interposed himself between them, saying, "Captain, Ambassador, perhaps you should save this discussion for later. We still have one last matter to attend to."

A muscle at the corner of Sheridan's eye twitched, but he nodded curtly, with one last glare at Delenn.

During the exchange, Sinclair had removed himself to the master console, and finished checking the readings. He could see that Ivanova had finished integrating the time controls into the panel, so the shifting could be controlled from there. He felt a lump forming in his throat, and swallowing hard, turned back to the others. "The rest of you get back to the ships. I'll set it off, and come join you."

Marcus came around the railing, staring at him reproachfully. "Entil'Zha, you always said that half a truth was worse than a lie. Don't disappoint me." The odd remark drew a number of curious looks.

Sinclair flinched, but returned the gaze levelly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You kept us going so fast, we haven't had time to think," Marcus said, a distraut waver in his voice. "But this system isn't fully automatic, is it? Someone has to ride this thing back into the distant past. And it's a one-way ticket, isn't it? Whoever goes, isn't coming back."

"Is this true?" Sheridan demanded, turning on Sinclair.

Slumping haggardly, Sinclair could only nod.

Marcus took a deep breath, then said, "I'll take her out."

Picard cleared his throat sharply. "That would be unwise, Mr. Cole. If there's one thing we've learned from our own experiences, it is that meddling in the time-stream is exceptionally dangerous. If you go back with this station, you would almost certainly interfere in the normal course of events, even if only by mischance."

"Another one of those, 'frag the universe' things?" Garibaldi quipped sourly.

"Mr. LaForge, can you rig an automated triggering device for the time-jumping controls?" Picard asked.

Brow furrowed in concentration, Geordi nodded thoughtfully. "It shouldn't be too difficult. Their equipment's different than anything we have, but it's not totally alien."

"No." Sinclair said with a chilling certainty. "Captain, Marcus... I'll take it back, because I always have taken it, and I always will. It's already happened."

"You don't know that," Ivanova said sharply, though a touch of desperation sounded in her words. Dammit, she thought, Jeff was one of the few real friends she had, and she wasn't going to let him go haring off a thousand years through time without a fight.

Sinclair's wizened face was sorrowful, but stern. "Yes I do. You asked what brought me here." He reached into his robes, and withdrew a yellowed piece of paper, an envelope, that was clearly brittle with age. "Before I left Minbar, I was given a letter. From nine hundred years ago." He handed the parchment to Sheridan.

Turning it over in his hands, Sheridan immediately spotted the neatly printed words, "Jeffery David Sinclair." Beside him, Ivanova gasped.

"Who's handwriting is this?" he asked, with the feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Mine," Sinclair confirmed. "I wrote this from the past, nine hundred years ago. I went. It's as simple as that."

"He's telling the truth," Delenn said softly. "I recieved one as well."

Ivanova shook her head furiously. "No. I can't accept this."

"If I go back to our time, the aging effect might kill me." 

Garibaldi winced at that reminder, and Sinclair turned apologetically to him. "I'm sorry Michael. That's why I didn't want you along in the first place."

"Doctor Bashir may be able to do something for you back on the Defiant, Mr. Garibaldi," Picard offered.

"Don't tell me you folks have a cure for aging," Garibaldi said with forced lightness, then snorted disdainfully at himself.

With a regretful sigh, Picard shook his head.

"Dammit, Jeff," Ivanova said, looking alarmingly close to tears.

"Susan," Sinclair said gently, "my whole life has been leading to this." He surveyed the room quickly. "Could you, all of you, give us a minute here? There's something we need to discuss, alone."

Ivanova turned and stalked out of the room with Marcus close behind her. Picard gestured descreetly to his officers, and the three of them also made for the exit. Garibaldi hesitated, then extended his hand. Sinclair took it, and they shook one last time.

Garibaldi forced a smile. "At least this way, I can say goodbye properly, Jeff. You gave me a chance when no one else would, and you've been a good friend, hell, probably one of my best friends. Thanks."

"And you've never once given me cause to doubt that choice, Michael. You've done well. Goodbye, old friend," Sinclair said sadly.

They broke the grip, and Garibaldi stumped to the door, then paused before going through, and looked back. "Jeff, G'Kar's been having me read that book of G'Quan, and I've noticed some interesting things." He grinned crookedly, and admonished, "Give the Shadows hell for me." Then he was gone, the door closing in his wake.

Sinclair started, and found himself wondering just how much Garibaldi actually knew. He shook his head ruefully, and turned away. "Zathras," he began, "There's something I don't understand..."

"Mr. Worf, are we prepared for departure?" Picard asked soberly.

Worf's deep voice came back over the comm-pin a moment later. "Yes sir, we have returned Commander Ivanova and Mr. Cole to the White Star, and Doctor Bashir reports that he has placed Chief Garibaldi in stasis." He paused a beat before going on. "Captain, sensors indicate that the level of tachyon interference around the station is increasing rapidly. We should transport you back as quickly as possible, before the distortion reaches dangerous levels."

Picard looked warily down the corridor at the doorway to the command center, which was remaining depressingly closed. "Understood, Mr. Worf, we should be beaming back momentarily."

"Yes sir," Worf replied, sounding entirely unconvinced.

At that moment, the big CnC doors slid open, and Sheridan stepped into the corridor, shaking his head at something. Delenn followed him out, and paused at the threshhold, taking a last look back. She smiled, then turned away with an air of heavy finality.

"Is everyone off the station?" Sheridan asked, on seeing Picard waiting for them.

Picard nodded, and peered past them, back towards the doorway. "What about Zathras?"

"He has his own path to follow," Delenn stated simply. "His destiny lies by Valen's side."

Even Sheridan looked askance at that, but he didn't remark on it, so Picard simply volunteered a weak, "I see." Tapping his comm-badge again, he announced, "Picard to Defiant, three to beam up." And they were swept away in a whirl of glittering energy.

*****

Bands of coruscating scarlet crackled arcross the bulbous sillouette of Babylon 4 on Ezri's display, and she gnawed her lower lip, studying the readouts. The tachyon surges were only increasing, and it looked to her like the station could go at any moment. She directed a silent but fervent plea at Picard to get a move on. The thought of being unwillingly dragged a thousand years into the past of some other universe held no appeal for her, although a small part of her, probably Jadzia, thought it might be fun. She squashed that feeling ruthlessly, lest some particularly sadistic god – or worse; Q – overhear.

Peeking to her left, she saw that Data, ensconed in the command chair, was studying something on the small console beside the chair's armrest, looking unaccountably serene. He'd taken over the conn when Worf had departed for the transporter room, to oversee getting everyone back to their respective ships. Across from him, and slightly fore on the opposite side of the bridge, Geordi was scratching his head thoughtfully at whatever he was looking at on the engineering station. She briefly wondered what he would have made of the same console on the first Defiant, which Chief O'Brien had modified and tinkered with for years.

Lost in thought, Ezri had missed the sound of the turbolift doors hissing open, and was startled when Data asked, "Doctor, have you placed Chief Garibaldi in stasis?" Particularly since the android had not even turned around to identify the newcomer.

"Just finished, Commander," Bashir confirmed. He swiveled the seat next to Ezri, and dropped into it heavily. "And it took some doing," he said in a lower voice, giving her a wry grin. "He wasn't exactly cooperative about being shut into one of those things." Then his expression grew bleak. "We should be able to prevent another aging effect by doing it, but there's not really anything else I can do about what's already been done."

"You'll think of something," Ezri replied, giving Bashir's arm a reassuring squeeze. "You always have before. Remember all that you did for Vedek Bariel?" She snapped her mouth shut, realizing she'd made a mistake the moment she said it.

She felt him suddenly tense. "And he's no less dead," Bashir said testily.

Ezri hadn't been on the station during that incident, but Jadzia had. She also knew how much Julian hated losing a patient, and she'd just inadvertently mentioned one that had been particularly harsh on him. He'd nearly turned Bariel into an android just to keep him alive, and ultimately, the Bajoran had decided he didn't want to live if that would be the price.

She was on the verge of apologizing when the turbolift doors swished open again, depositing Picard and Worf at the aft end of the bridge.

Data rose from the center chair. "Captain on the bridge."

Picard gave him a curt nod before taking the center seat. As the most senior officer, he was technically in command, of course... but it wasn't _his _ship, and he found the position oddly uncomfortable.

Taking note of the Captain's fidgeting, Worf leaned over, and in a low voice that still managed to carry across the bridge, asked, "Sir, is there something wrong with the chair?"

"No, Mr. Worf," Picard replied easily. "I just think I prefer my chair." When Worf snorted and stepped back, Picard turned his attention to the main screen, and the lone console in front of him. "Mr. Nog," he said in a louder, command tone, "take us out of the distortion field."

The Ferengi, who'd been sitting stonily at the helm, became suddenly animated at the prospect of something to do. "Yes sir!"

On the screen, which Picard found to be disconcertingly small compared to the broad one on the Enterprise, Babylon 4 rolled off the screen, to be replaced by writhing curls of bluish-grey energy, which surrounded the area like a fogbank. The White Star abruptly hove into view, before curving off and accelerating away.

The tendrils of temporal energy began to thin out rapidly as they moved away from the station, and before long, stars were visible through the gauzey soup. Ezri blinked in astonishment at some of the improbable readings she was getting from it. Her investigations into temporal phenomena, which she'd begun while the Defiant had drifted near Babylon 4, had turned up more methods of time travel than she'd ever expected. Another one to add to the list, she thought abstractly. 

"Lieutenant Dax," Picard said suddenly, "give us a reverse view."

She touched a control, and Babylon 4 reappeared on the screen, awash in radiant light. The station actually seemed to be distorting and twisting, alternately stretching and flattening in a way that would have instantly destroyed it were it actually occurring. Then the image distended radically, and the station collapsed into a two-dimensional line which was as quickly obscured by a blinding glare of released energy, which the viewscreen made a heroic attempt to filter. 

Even so, Picard found himself blinking away spots. "Shield status?" he called out, trying to maintain a level command tone.

"Holding, Captain," Geordi announced from his position. His artificial eyes had been far more flexible in dealing with the sudden intense light.

"And the White Star?"

Ezri belatedly realized that the captain was addressing her, and she took stock of her instruments. "They're still here," she said with some relief. Then she blinked, and looked again. There was something else there. She squeezed her eyes shut, and looked again, in case it was just the aftereffects of the station's disappearence. But it was still there. "Captain," she added hesitantly, "I'm picking up a spatial distortion, at about seven thousand kilometers."

Picard frowned thoughtfully. "Part of the temporal anomaly, Lieutenant?"

She shook her head with ominous slowness. "I don't think so."

"Status!" Sheridan barked.

Ivanova glanced up from her console, looking drained. "The station's gone, Captain," she said hollowly. "But the Defiant got out with us."

Sheridan sighed, then chuckled tiredly. "Mr. Lennier, plot a course back to Babylon 5."

The Minbari nodded without replying, and began laying in the course change.

"Captain," Marcus said warningly, standing up from behind his own console. A tinge of dread colored his voice. "I'm picking up a hyperspace distortion."

Frowning, Sheridan turned in his seat to look back at the Ranger. Delenn and Ivanova followed his example, putting Marcus on the spot. "Where?" Sheridan asked.

Marcus swallowed, looking sick. "Right on top of us."

A scream like a thousand nails being raked across a thousand chalkboards knifed through the ship. The sound was the stuff of nightmares, seeming to drill into the skull, and slashing like an ice-pick down through the spine. It was a sound they'd all heard before.

Rippling into existance, it seemed to tear through the fabric of the universe itself to visit destruction upon the suddenly inadequate White Star. Black as space, with spines jutting nearly half a kilometer from its body, the Shadow vessel descended upon them like an unholy angel of death.

"Mr. Lennier, full speed, now!" Sheridan bellowed, flexing his hands impotently. "Evasive manuevers!" The White Star had served them well the last two – and only – times that they had directly engaged a Shadow vessel. The first time, their suvival was sheer luck, and a Bonehead Manuever that took out the entire Markab jumpgate. The second time, the vessel was half-crazed, using an unprepared human where a Shadow enhanced telepath should have been. And even then, they'd come perilously close to crumpling like a tin can deep in the atmosphere of Jupiter.

But this was different. This was an ambush, and Sheridan grimly conceeded that the odds of them survivng the next ten seconds were not something he'd ever bet on.

The spiderlike vessel spun around, tracking them, and it screamed again, perhaps in the joy of pursuit. Something near its heart glowed sickly purple, and he realized it was about to fire.

"Fire!" Picard roared.

Worf's thick fingers stabbed the weapons console, and he grinned with feral glee as the Defiant responded, blazing phaser pulses at the enemy.

Reacting with astounding dexterity, the Shadow vessel spun out of the line of fire, nearly avoiding every shot. But a few of them hit home, and it shrieked again, this time in a mixture of pain and rage. Nevertheless, it had fired, and despite a wild roll on the part of the White Star, the blinding violet beam scored a slash across its hull.

Picard gripped the armrests of the chair until his knuckles turned white, and the tendons in his wrists stood out against the skin. "Worf, arm quantum torpedoes!"

"Aye sir, quantum torpedoes armed," Worf announced, baring his teeth.

Sheridan hauled himself back into the center seat through sheer force of will. He could deal with his aching arms later. He tasted the salty iron tang of blood, and realized he must have bitten his tongue, or lip. He couldn't tell which.

The bridge was intact, but the sudden impact of the beam had sent the White Star tumbling, and overloaded some of their inertial dampening. The rest of the crew were pulling themselves to their feet, and Sheridan noticed with little surprise that Lennier was still upright at his station. Ivanova cursed imaginatively, and stood, leaning up against the bulkhead. Delenn was clinging to the railing behind the command chair, but shot him a reassuring smile when she caught his eye.

"Lennier, report," he demanded.

"They missed!" Delenn murmured in surprise.

Shaking his head to clear it, Lennier tapped at his panel. "Hull integrity is compromised in several sections, but we have no major systems damage." He looked up, with a disbelieving expression. "Captain, the Defiant has engaged the Shadow vessel."

Sheridan blinked, then grinned wolfishly. "Bring us about, Mr. Lennier. Ivanova, target that bastard."

Seconds later, the White Star bucked gently as it directed its considerable firepower at the furious mass of dark limbs.

Data whooped, startling everyone, when a quantum torpedo struck the Shadow ship a solid blow, smashing off two of its limbs. The vessel screamed its agony, and billows of black ichor sprayed from the wounded apendages. It spun crazily as shots from the White Star found their mark. 

"Good shot, Mr. Worf," Picard said, nodding at the Klingon.

The dreadful enemy on their screen dropped out of sight suddenly, and was back an instant later. An instant after that, a second one of the nightmares faded into view. With a combined shriek more terrible than the first, the two of them swept towards the two small starships.

"Captain, that second ship is three point oh-four times the mass of the first," Data reported nervously.

The sense of approaching death was so tangible, Picard leaped to his feet in shock when a brilliant red beam speared the wounded Shadow vessel, and it crumpled on itself, shriveling like a burning leaf, while vomiting clouds of diseased looking ichor. The second ship paused, and pulled back, in fear or consideration for the odds, none of them could say.

The powerful phasers of a Soveriegn-class starship are an unmistakable sight, and Picard gaped openly as his own ship soared into the fray.

There was no time to celebrate though, as the second, much larger Shadow charged them headlong. The three starships turned to flee, but the monstronsity was gaining on them rapidly, slipping in and out of hyperspace.

"Junior!" Riker bellowed.

The young Q was nearly red-faced with strain, and his teeth were gritting audibly. "I'm trying!"

In front of the three starships, space itself tore open, in a display of fearsome white light. In their headlong flight, they sailed through it at something just this side of light-speed.

Junior slammed his palms together in a gesture far removed from his father's usual low-key finger snap. The rift pinched shut as quickly as it had opened in the first place, catching the pursuer squarely in the middle. 

Cut cleanly in half, its humanoid controller instantly killed, the Shadow vessel withered and died.

"Mr. Boral," Riker ordered with cold hostility. "Get that out of my sky."

The Bolian was more than happy to hit the firing control. The drifting husk of the crumpled Shadow vessel was briefly illuminated in the wash of phaser fire, before being reduced to a thin subatomic mist.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

__

Commander's Personal Log, August 21, 2260:

At least that's what it was. Around here? Who knows? The Captain's livid, and I can't say I blame him. I mean, granted, these Starfleet people hauled our asses out of the line of two Shadow vessels, but then to drag us along into yet another dimension? No, I don't blame the Captain at all. I have to admit though, I really enjoyed watching those bastards die like that, after all they've done so far. But taking out two of their ships like that may not go unnoticed.. We've got to get back to B5 before something else goes wrong, or the Shadows decide to notice us. It's been two hours since we got here. A part of me is curious though. Not counting hyperspace, I've never been to another dimension. Who knows what's out here? The Captain didn't say anything, but he's excited too – I can see it in his eyes. He always wanted command of an Explorer ship, and this whole mess is something he'd love to get to the bottom of. We can't stay, of course, but I think he – 

"Susan? Ah, there you are," Marcus said leaning around the corner, and peering into the otherwise empty sleeping room. With repairs to be made, and extended shifts implemented, the room was unoccupied, and Ivanova had claimed one of the tilted Minbari beds as a seat. As far as she was concerned, the things weren't any good for their intended purpose, so she got what use she could out of them.

Ivanova sighed resignedly, pressing the stud on her handlink that would stop recording. "What is it, Marcus?"

"Sorry to interupt," he offered contritely. "But I thought you should know that Captain Sheridan's gone over to the Enterprise to talk with Captain Picard. I think Picard knew they might be there for a while, because he issued an open invitation for us to visit his ship. Interested?"

"I don't know," Ivanova replied tiredly, scrubbing her face with one hand. "Who's taking them up on the offer?"

Marcus scratched his head thoughtfully. "Actually, I don't know exactly. I am for one, Delenn too, I think. Where she goes, Lennier will almost certainly follow. The Captain and Mr. Garibaldi are already there."

Hesitantly, Ivanova asked, "Are they going to beam us over? I really don't like that transporter sensation."

"Neither did Delenn, I think," Marcus chuckled. "We'll be taking a shuttle over."

"Sure, what the hell," Ivanova allowed. "Maybe they'll have something strong to drink. I could use something like that right about now." A thought occurred her. "Maybe they'll let me take a look at the Defiant too. I want to know how they snuck up on us back at B5. Even the Minbari don't have a stealth field like that."

"Are you always thinking about things like that?" Marcus inquired with an amused snort.

Ivanova pondered that for a long moment. "Nope... just most of the time."

"Ah." When she didn't immediately get up, he added, "Well?" He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying to look disapproving.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she replied, demonstrating by getting to her feet. "Just give me a minute to finish my log entry. I'll meet you in the launch bay in a few minutes."

He didn't move fast enough, and she pointed at the open doorway. "Scram!"

Marcus raised his hands in defeat, and backed into the corridor so the automatic doors could slide closed. He silently debated whether to simply wait for her outside the doors, but finally decided against it, and turned to walk towards the launching bay. 

Delenn came around the corner as he approached, also on her way to the shuttle. "Is she coming?" she asked pointedly.

Smiling, he nodded. "She'll be down in a few minutes."

"Good," Delenn replied softly. "She and Jeffery were close friends, and I think it would do her good to think about something else for a while. If one dwells upon the past too hard, the present can pass them by."

Her words struck something in Marcus's mind, which he'd forgotten about during the Shadow attack. "That reminds me, Delenn, something I meant to ask you earlier. I've read the accounts of the last Shadow War; it's part of Ranger training. But I don't ever recall any mention made of a human aboard Babylon 4 when it was found. What happened to Entil'Zha?"

Delenn stiffened, and turned away, staring vacantly down the corridor. "My people would never have accepted Babylon 4 if they had found it with a human aboard," she said simply.

That quietly spoken statement of fact slammed Marcus like any sudden revalation. "Dear God," he breathed. "Minbari not born of Minbari!"

"No, I can't accept that, Captain." Sheridan paced furiously in front of Picard's desk, in the cramped ready room aboard the Enterprise. 

The same room aboard the last Enterprise had been cheerily lit, and relatively spacious, but what remained of that ship was spread across several square kilometers of torn-up forest on Veridian III. In contrast, everything about this new ship struck Picard as forboding and grim. There were no familes aboard any longer, and this ship's primary duty was no longer exploration and discovery, but war. The former didn't bother Picard much, as he'd never truly agreed with the policy of allowing families aboard a ship that could be thrown in the path of danger at any time. But the latter bother him a great deal. The lighting was dimmer, the uniforms darker, and the atmosphere generally grimmer. He noticed that Sheridan seemed to take it in stride, as if he expected a starship to be so starkly functional.

Babylon 5's commander stopped pacing, to glare at Picard. "Everything's coming to a head. We've finally gotten the Vorlons to move openly, the League is only holding together because we're forcing them to, and back home, they're still painting us as the devil incarnate." He shook his head violently. "We've got to go back. All of that aside, we can't leave a station of a quarter-million people in the hands of one Lieutenant and a deputy security chief."

Picard sighed gustily. "I understand all of that, Captain, and I sympathize. We were keeping an eye on the Romulan border, and Commander Worf is supposed to be assisting Chancellor Martok in negotiations with the Bajorans on behalf of the Klingon Empire." He raised a hand to forestall another protest. "But there is nothing I can do. You saw Q's son yourself. Only he knows where we are going and why, and he's been conspicuously absent ever since our arrival in this dimension."

"There must something you can do," Sheridan implored, sweeping his hands in a frustrated gesture. "I can't believe you'd have come all this way if you didn't have any way to get back."

"Believe what you will, Captain," Picard retorted, "but that is the truth. Our primary mission has always been one of peaceful exploration." He stood, eyeing Sheridan levelly, then turned to the small replicator in the wall. "Earl grey, hot," he told the computer. "We were given an rather forceful opportunity to explore entirely new dimensions. It has proven to be most interesting so far. But make no mistake, I would trust the Grand Nagus to hold my wallet before I'd trust Q." In the cubbyholed replicator, a squat, steaming mug appeared. Picard lifted it, and after an appreciative inhalation, took a cautious sip of the hot tea. "Would you like anything?" he asked Sheridan, catching the other man offguard with the sudden change in topic.

Sheridan tore his stare away from the replicator, and shook his head slowly. "Uh... no, no thanks." Abruptly, he brought the conversation back on track. "Where is this Q person then?"

Startlingly bright in the small room, Junior appeared in a flash of light, sitting comfortably propped up in mid-air. "I was wondering when you'd finally get around to that," he said almost petulantly, a bored expression plastered on his face. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have to slow your thoughts down just to interact with a bunch of barely evolved simians?"

Picard snapped, "Junior!" But he was drowned out by a furious black-uniformed harbinger of all things painful.

"You!" Sheridan bellowed, stabbing a finger at the free-floating godling. "You're the reason we're stuck here, aren't you?" It wasn't a question, and Junior momentarily blanched before regaining his ingrained sneer.

"Hardly. The Continuum would come down on me like a neutronium anvil for pulling something like this without a good reason." Junior snorted derisively.

Hating himself for having to defend the young Q, Picard rose from behind his desk, setting down the mug of tea with a solid thump. "He's probably telling the truth there," he said, stepping discreetly between Sheridan and Junior. "His father, Q, was once disciplined by the Continuum, who took away his powers for similar... indiscretions. We have the records of that encounter, if you'd like to see them."

Ignoring him, Sheridan took another step closer to the boy. "I demand that you return us to our own universe. Immediately." There was a dangerous edge to his voice, and Junior drew back slightly.

But his self-important poise won out. "Demand? Not a chance. I didn't bring you along for kicks." Junior scowled, although the effort seemed half-hearted. "You've got a role to play in this, as much as Picard. No, you'll stay until our job is finished. Then, if it makes you feel better, I'll put you back an instant after you left, so your precious station won't even know you've been gone."

"Like hell," Sheridan snapped angrily. "I didn't let Kosh push me around, and I sure as hell won't let some punk kid." Junior flushed, and his eyes narrowed. "No," Sheridan continued, "I've got half a mind –"

"Obviously," Junior commented through gritted teeth.

Sheridan's jaw clenched, and his fists knotted at his sides.

Picard cleared his throat sharply, feeling the situation rapidly spiraling into dangerous terrain. He couldn't argue with Sheridan's reaction, having dealt with the even more infuriating elder Q. But it was easy to forget his all-too-real abilities, and he had no desire to provoke the boy into blasting them both out of existance on a whim.

Unlenching his hands, and backing down, Sheridan took a deep breath. He abruptly realized that the young Q had been trying to make him mad, and he wasn't about to let himself be manipulated that way. He turned to Picard, and a move that deliberately excluded the teenaged omnipotent, asked him, "What news do you have about Mr. Garibaldi?"

Not to be outdone, Junior snapped his fingers loudly, and exclaimed, "Ah, almost forgot." Then he was gone in another flash of light.

"I don't like the sound of that," Sheridan confessed, glaring reproachfully at the spot so recently occupied by what he could only think of as the Centauri God of Irritiation.

Picard snorted in wry amusement, settling back into his chair. Then his face grew somber. "In any event, Captain, the last report I recieved from Doctor Crusher said that Mr. Garibaldi had been removed from stasis, and that he did not age any further during the last transit. However," he added reluctantly, "the doctor is of the opinion that there is very little she can do to to reverse the aging effect. She believes it will be permanent."

Bowing his head, Sheridan nodded, tight-lipped. "Can I see him?"

"Of course, Captain. He's still in sickbay under observation." Picard stood, intending to lead the way to the door, but a communications signal chirped through hidden speakers in the room.

"Crusher to Captain Picard."

Sheridan cocked a quizzical eyebrow, and Picard shrugged imperceptibly. "Picard here. What is it, Doctor?"

Crusher's voice was exasperated, and they could hear the sounds of some commotion in the background. "Captain, have you seen Q's son since the attack?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. He was just here in my ready room. Why do you ask?"

There was a pause from the other end, and suddenly, Garibaldi's strident tone cut through the babble of voices in the background. "Let me the hell out of here, already!" he was saying. "No, keep that thing away from me, or I swear I'm gonna –"

"Mr. Garibaldi," Crusher said loudly, apparently forgetting for the moment that the channel was open, "your system's been through a severe shock, and we don't fully understand what the rapid-aging effect did to your body. You will sit back down, or I'll have you sedated," she added sharply over Garibaldi's continuing protestations.

Sheridan tried to hide a grin, not entirely succeeding, and even Picard looked tolerantly amused. 

"Not a chance," Garibaldi was saying, "Yeah, so I got better."

A harried sounding Crusher finally got back on the channel clearly. "Captain, I don't know quite how to explain this – no, scratch that, I know exactly how to explain this – but Mr. Garibaldi appears to have made a full recovery in the past twenty seconds."

Picard blinked, and turned to Sheridan, who's eyes had widened. "After you, Captain," Picard offered, gesturing towards the door. I think we should be getting down to sickbay post haste."

"Good idea," Sheridan said, shaking his head ruefully. As he followed Picard back onto the bridge, he asked, "So you have a recording of that brat's father when he lost his powers?"

Looking over his shoulder as they entered the turbolift, Picard replied, "Yes. In retrospect, I find it rather amusing, although at the time we were too preoccupied to notice. I can make those files available to you, if you'd like."

"I think I'd like to see that," Sheridan mused. "Yes, I think I'd like that a lot."

"Hello Data," Guinan said, wiping the length of the sleek bartop down in the manner of bartenders the universe over. Ten Forward on the new ship was not quite as inviting as the same room aboard the previous Enterprise, but it was still a generally cheerful place, full of off-duty crewmen talking, drinking, and otherwise enjoying their free time.

Data picked an empty stool at the bar, motioning for his companion to take the next seat over. Marcus did, carefully pushing his cloak out of the way, and trying to avoid looking like a tourist.

"Greetings, Guinan," Data said affably. "This is Marcus Cole. He is a member of the White Star's crew. I was taking him on a tour of the ship, but I am given to understand that Captain Picard and Captain Sheridan have concluded their discussions for the time being. Marcus, this is Guinan."

"Charmed," the Ranger acknowledged with a nod, trying not to stare at the hostess' atire.

Guinan smiled disarmingly, and returned the gesture, then seemed to be watching them both, without actually looking at either one of them. "So, what will it be?"

"Yarmoth Juice," Data said without hesitation, and Guinan cocked an eyebrow at him, while Marcus suddenly regarded him with a befuddled look.

"You can drink?" he asked, almost accusingly.

Data regarded him levelly. "It is not necessary, since my biological components can be maintained through more effecient means. But I find that the process of consuming food and drink is comforting to other people in social situations. I also find it can be a fascinating source of emotional reactions."

"Ah, well then. In that case, I'll have what he's having," Marcus said, shaking his head.

Guinan handed Data a glass full of a viscous orange liquid, all the while watching Marcus. "You might want to reconsider that," she mentioned lightly.

"Oh?"

She indicated Data with a movement of her head, and Marcus turned to see the android wearing a grotesquely nauseous expression, and grimacing horribly. At the Ranger's questioning glance, she explained, "It's a fruit juice mixture from Frokas III. He hates the stuff. And he's in company with most of the rest of the crew."

"Then why is he drinking it?" Marcus asked with evident confusion. 

"I think you'd better ask him," she replied unhelpfully. "But," she continued more directly, "what would you like?"

Marcus shot Data another queer look as the android suddenly gagged, then set the empty glass down. "How about something that isn't awful?"

Guinan's hand came up an instant later, setting down a thin, fluted glass, in which a light blue liquid swirled. "Synthetic Romulan Ale," she explained. "The real stuff isn't permitted on the ship, but I'm given to understand that the synthehol version isn't terrible." Peering past him, toward a far corner of the room, she excused herself, leaving the Ranger and the android to their own devices. Halfway across, she motioned away a Tellerite waiter who was on a beeline for the same place. The sole occupant of the table in the corner was leaning across the nearly empty surface, staring out the broad windows broodingly.

Ivanova jumped, startled, when the colorful hostess of Ten Forward stepped in front of her, blocking out her view of the stars. The huge purple hat drew her eyes first, of course, as it flared outward and upward at an improbable angle. It should have looked stunningly comical, but the face beneath it projected such a powerful feeling of staunch dignity, that it only seemed merely appropriate.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked quietly, resting a hand on the back of the chair directly opposite Ivanova.

She wasn't in the mood for company, and resented the intrusion on her well-earned sulk. But it was their ship, after all, so in a strained effort to be politic, Ivanova answered in a grudging affirmative. While Guinan arranged her garments, and took the seat, Ivanova stared blankly at the drink in front of her, and stirred it listlessly.

"Enjoying the vodka?" Guinan observed drily.

Glaring, Ivanova downed the contents of the glass in one swallow. "It's not working. It tastes right, but it's not working right."

"It's synthehol," Guinan explained. "You can drink all you want, but you won't get drunk on it."

"Then what's the point?" Ivanova asked sharply.

Guinan produced a small glass and a dusty bottle from within the folds of her robes. A green liquid sloshed invitingly within, and Ivanova eyed it prospectively. "It's not regulation, but I keep a stock of the real thing. I'm told that Captain Scott quite enjoyed it."

Maddeningly, she held them out of reach. "Commander, why would you want to do that to yourself?"

"Why?" Ivanova felt her temper getting the better of her again. "Why?" she repeated. "I'll tell you why. Because my good friend Jeff is gone, for good this time. Because Mr. Garibaldi came along when he shouldn't have, and now he's got maybe a few years left to live. Because I couldn't do a thing about it. And dammit, because for the moment, I just want to forget about it all." After the outburst, she sagged back into the chair heavily.

"And what happens when you wake up? Your friend will still be gone, your other friend will have even less time, and you still won't know how to deal with it." Guinan shook her head sadly. "Why not talk to someone who understands, and settle those problems, instead of running from them?" She inclined her head, and Ivanova followed her gaze.

Marcus was staring back at her from the bar, nursing something pale blue. As soon as he realized she had seen him, he quickly looked away, to stare forelornly at his drink.

"Marcus?" Ivanova asked, incredulously. "Mr. Cheerful himself?" She snorted disdainfully, then looked back at Guinan. "Who made you a shrink anyway?"

"All part of the trade," came back the enigmatic reply. "Think about it, but don't take too long. Where Q is involved," and she loaded the letter with more malice than Ivanova thought was possible, "things don't stay quiet for long." Then she set bottle and glass down, rose from the seat with a deep nod, then retraced her path back to the bar.

Ivanova poured out a measure of the green liquor, and swished it around in the glass. Then with a stifled curse, set it down hard. "Great, now I don't even feel like getting plastered," she muttered resignedly.

A shadow fell across the table, and looking up, she saw Marcus standing over her, gazing out the window. "Quite a view, isn't it?" It was obvious small talk, since there was nothing else to see but the stars, and those no more spectacular than could be seen out of Babylon 5's command deck. He hesitated, then with an offhanded gesture at the chair so recently vacated by Guinan, began, "Mind if I?"

She shrugged, and waved him into the seat half-heartedly, then downed the contents of the glass in one gulp. It burned going down, but she figured she's need it to keep from throttling him. He really annoyed her sometimes just by being in the general area, and what was worse, she couldn't have said why that was.

To her surprise, he didn't say anything, but let a painfully long silence stretch out between them. In fact, it was so long, that Ivanova felt compelled to say something, just to break it. "So, what do you think of this ship?" she finally asked, not looking up.

"Oh, well, it's certainly the most luxurious warship I've ever seen. You'd know better than I, of course, but Data's quarters are almost as big as yours back on Babylon 5." Marcus trailed off, lost in thought, and absentmindedly said, "Entil'Zha would have liked it."

He was brought up short by what sounded like a soft, strangled sob. Glancing up in surprise, he saw Ivanova wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her black uniform. He would have liked to have done the chivalrous thing, and handed her a handkerchief, but he wasn't carrying one.

"I'm gonna miss him, Marcus," she confessed quietly, then sniffed.

Marcus tried to think of something brilliantly consoling to say, or maybe just something funny that could draw a smile. But words failed him.

Ivanova continued blithly on, oblivious. "I mean, he's going back a thousand years just to die. It just seems so pointless."

"You mean you thought – "Marcus groaned miserably, and clubbed his own forehead with the heel of his hand. Ivanova stared at him, curiously. "I forgot that you didn't know, Susan," he moaned apologetically. "I meant to tell you on the way over, but you were piloting, and I didn't want to distract you from getting my arse over here in one piece." 

"Know what?"

It didn't sound like a question, and he gulped and quailed before her suspicion-laden tone. "You see, it's like this. Do you remember, back on Babylon 4, when you asked about Valen? Said you'd like to meet him, if I recall."

She frowned, and started to reply, but the handlink on her wrist began to cheep insistently, and without taking her eyes off Marcus, brought it up to her mouth, and said, "Ivanova here."

Sheridan's voice was annoyingly cheerful. "Commander," he said, "There's something down here I really think you should see."

When he didn't continue, she prompted, "Uh, Captain, where exactly is 'here?' If you intend for me to get there within the next two weeks, that would be helpful, for starters." She flashed a despairing look at Marcus, although it was clearly meant for the person at the other end of the comlink.

"Oh, right," Sheridan replied without hint of apology. "Can you find Holodeck Three?"

Marcus nodded, and with a sigh, she said, "Yes sir, I'm on my way. And sir, this had better be good." But the link was already dead. She stabbed a finger at Marcus as she rose from the chair. "You do know how to get there, right?"

"Absolutely," Marcus said in an offended tone. "Well, pretty much." He chuckled at the wholely exasperated expression she shot him. "C'mon, on the way I'll tell you all about what happened to Entil'Zha in the past."

A ghost of a smile formed on her lips for the first time since Babylon 4 faded into the realm of myth and legends. "Ok, Marcus, but if you get us lost, I'll still have to hurt you."

"Nonsense, a ranger is a master of orientation, and always knows exactly where he is." Rising from his own seat, he shifted his finger back and forth between the double doors on either side of the wide lounge. Then he settled on the left-hand side, and pointed. "That way. Definately that way."

Guinan placed a big tumbler of Sluggo Cola on the bar in front of Nog, still recognizable as the first Ferengi in Starfleet, and as a consequence, the only one who could stomach that vile brew. When the Ferengi turned to strike up conversation with the Bajoran crewwoman next to him, Guinan took the opportunity to glance across the room. With approval, she noted that Ivanova's table was empty, and that the bottle upon it was still mostly full.

"Delenn," Lennier said imploringly, sidestepping an Enterprise crewman, "it is growing late. We really should be finding the others."

Without looking back, Delenn turned down another corridor. "We will arrive on time, Lennier, do not fret." She gazed around, wonderingly. 

As far as Lennier could tell, this corridor was no different than any of the others they had wandered through, but Delenn seemed to find new reserves of excitement around every wrong turn. What captivated her the most was not the ship itself though, but its crew. Dozens of races, none of which she had ever heard of before, all working together on the same ship, and in the same uniforms.

"It is a most inspiring sight, is it not, Lennier? I would very much like to see such a melding of races in the An'la'Shok someday," she said wistfully.

Lennier bowed, although her back was still to him. "Yes Delenn, but perhaps we should not be wandering unescorted through this vessel. Captain Picard and his crew might not appreciate our curiosity. If we – Yah!" he yelped and jumped aside as a small mountain trundled past at surprising speed, filling most of the hall.

"Excuse me," the rock burbled contritely.

As it swept by, Lennier thought he could make out a Starfleet style rank insignia carefully painted on one facet of the stone. He stared after it for a brief moment, as a human walking through the intersection called out a friendly greeting to it. Shaking his head, he looked back, and had to rush to catch up with Delenn, who had taken a lead.

Hearing him rushing up behind her, she looked back with a sly smile. "I do not see why the Captain would have a problem with our exploring his vessel unattended. After all, he and his officers spent several hours exploring Babylon 5."

"That is different, Delenn. This is a ship, not a free port." She didn't reply immediately, and he began to think that she had chosen not to hear him.

But she finally sighed, and stopped walking next to a large flat panel on the wall. An overhead diagram of the ship was layed out on it in bright colors. "Very well, Lennier. We are supposed to meet John and Mr. Garibaldi at Holodeck Three."

Lennier considered that, then looked up at the diagram. "In that case, by making use of this schematic, I believe I can locate our current position. The corridors are arranged around the saucer in concentric rings and transverse connections. We are currently in one of the concentric ones, and based on the severity of the overall curve, I believe we may be..." he faltered, running his finger over the map.

"Excuse me," he heard Delenn ask, and turning, found her talking to a burly human. "I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to Holodeck Three?"

The man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You're the Minbari ambassadors, aren't you? Word spreads fast around here," he chuckled at her surprised look. "Yeah, no problem. Take this passage down to the next intersection, and hang a left. The turbolift is right there. Take that to deck four, and go left. The holodeck is on the right side."

"Thank you," Delenn said, flashing the man a grateful smile. "Come, Lennier."

Lennier blinked, and lowered his finger from the map.

Rolling the idea around in her head, Ivanova shook her head wearily. It was insane, and couldn't be true. But then, she reflected, so was stealing Babylon 4 for a war that was going on while humans still thought that turning lead into gold was a neat idea. It also made a lot of sense, and she wasn't sure if that was a good sign, or if she was finally swerving across that thin line marked "sanity."

"That's crazy, even for you, Marcus," she said out loud.

Marcus looked suitably affronted. "Think about it. Minbari not born of Minbari? And we just happen to send Entil'Zha back to that exact same period, never to be heard of again. The only human not comfortably on planet Earth, and that is the same point when human and Minbari souls began to merge." He wagged a finger at her. "That's not a coincidence."

Ivanova rolled her eyes, and let out a relieved sigh when the turbolift doors finally opened. "Are you sure this is the right deck?" Marcus had managed to find two cargo bays and a transporter room, but the holodeck was proving to be more elusive.

Leaning around the doorframe, he let out a pleased sound. "I'm sure of it now. We're almost there."

She followed him out into the hall with just a little trepidation, expecting another long and fruitless chase. Glancing down the hall though, she immediately saw that he was right.

Unfortunately, he was looking in the wrong direction. "I'm quite sure it's right around that corner over there," he said, pointing towards an intersection.

"Marcus."

"Yes, I recognize that display on the wall. This is definately the - "

"Marcus!"

He turned, startled. Ivanova set one hand on her hip, and pointed in the opposite direction, where Sheridan and Picard were standing and talking. Having seen them, Sheridan waved them over enthusiatically.

Marcus's face fell, until Ivanova thought he looked like a hurt puppy. "I knew that," he said, suddenly recovering a cheerful demeanor.

"Captain?" Ivanova asked, as she approached them. "What's going on?" Her tone was accusing.

Sheridan beckoned them closer, and gestured to the thick dark grey doors they were standing beside. "Take a look."

She didn't trust him when he smiled like that, but he was after all her superior officer. With a pained sigh, she walked up to the big doors, which like the others on this ship, helpfully slid apart, though with a mechanical groan. Stunned, she took a few steps inside, barely noticing Marcus's sharp inhalation as he crowded in behind her.

It was like walking outside. Well, it would have been, it outside were normally a cratered wasteland full of misty crevasses and simmering pools of something unidentifiable. The air was warm and moist, and the stench of brimstone made their eyes water.

Intellectually, she knew it was just a hologram, but it felt real, right down to the broken shale crunching under her feet. It was captivating enough that when a body collided with a nearby stone pillar, she flinched and recoiled. The creature, which was thick and shaggy, staggered to its feet, and then looked straight at her, growling menacingly. Then it charged.

She lashed out instinctively, catching it across the face with her foot. It shook its head unsteadily, but in that instant, Marcus's pike flashed, slamming into its head with a sharp crack. It gurgled, then sank to the ground.

Ivanova looked around swiftly, making sure there were no others. But when she looked back, the body was gone. "_This _is what he wanted us to see?" she snapped.

Marcus pointed back at where they had entered, but the doors were gone, replaced by a tall rock wall. "If that was a practical joke, I'm not laughing."

"Computer, end program." The command was called out in an unmistakable rumbling bass, and the entire scene, sights, sounds, and smells, rippled and blinked out of existance. Everything, in fact, save for two figures in the middle of the uniformly gridworked room, and a cool breeze blowing in from somewhere.

"Mr. Garibaldi!" Ivanova called out in pure astonishment.

Garibaldi gulped down air, grinned, and waved. He looked just the way she'd seen him that morning – his short, thining hair was still brown, and the skin on his face unlined.

Beside him, Worf hefted his long, wickedly curved bat'leth, and glared down at him. "You should have let me handle that last attacker. And simply shooting it defeats the purpose of the exercise."

Garibaldi stared at him. "It was three seconds away from putting a knife through your back! And you were still dealing with two others at the same time."

"It was your idea to turn off the holodeck safties," Worf grumbled.

"Yeah, well, what's the point of getting in a fight if there's no danger?" He winced, and rubbed one shoulder. "But I will say that those are the hardest hitting holograms I've ever seen."

About that time, Ivanova finally overcame her temporary speechlessness. "What the hell is going on here?" She glared at the two of them in turn, then once at Marcus for good measure.

Garibaldi assumed an unconvincing air of purest innocence, and said, "Exercizing."

"Klingon calisthenics," Worf added when Ivanova simply worked her jaw alarmingly.

"I wasn't talking about that." Her words seemed to hit the floor like an open challenge. "My God Michael, you're, you're..."

"You're not old anymore, Mr. Garibaldi," Marcus supplied with a dry glance at the security chief. "I'd sure like to know how you managed that one. We could market it, and become fabulously wealthy," he pondered in a more conversational tone, which cut off quickly when Ivanova turned a wilting glare on him.

Excluded from the center of attention for the moment, Worf slipped past them, and stomped out the door. He nodded politely to both captains as he passed them, and slung his bat'leth across his broad back.

Back in the holodeck, Garibaldi unsuccessfully tried to change the subject. "If that's their idea of a workout, I'd hate to see what they consider a combat training sim," he muttered wryly.

"Calling it a day, Mr. Worf?" Picard asked mildly as the Klingon strode past.

Worf paused, rapidly considering the level of censure in the captain's voice, and finding none, nodded again. "Yes sir, it is almost 2300 hours, and I should be returning to the Defiant."

Picard smiled approvingly. "Very well then. Good night, Mr. Worf."

The Klingon had only gone a few yards down the hall before he had to step aside again, to allow Delenn and Lennier through.

Sheridan quirked an eyebrow at the exchange. "Captain, how is it that your clock has the same time as ours?"

"It's no coincidence, if that's what you're asking," Picard explained. "Our chronometers were very close to your own when we arrived, so it was a simple matter to sychronize ours with your Earth standard time."

"I see," Sheridan replied thoughtfully. "Doesn't that throw your whole crew off?"

Picard shook his head, and took a step back from the holodeck door, in case anyone else came out. "We have to occasionally handle ambassadors and diplomatic functions from various planets, so we have to be able to vary our measurements to match. Everyone regularly serves on different duty shifts, so by now, most of the crew have learned to adapt rather well to sudden changes. It helps, of course, that in deep space, there are no actual days or nights."

Delenn walked up beside them before Sheridan could work out a reply to that. "Captain," she greeted, bowing from the shoulders to Picard. "John." The tone was the same, but she smiled brightly up at him.

"Ambassador," Picard replied, returning the gesture. He turned to look over his shoulder as the holodeck doors parted. Garibaldi and Ivanova left the room quickly, but behind them, Marcus gave the empty room one last wary inspection before following them out. Garibaldi was rubbing the back of his neck, and trying not to meet Ivanova's steely gaze. 

"Well then," Sheridan said, stifling a sudden yawn, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been up since 0500, and I'm beat."

Garibaldi waved a finger two inches from Sheridan's nose. "Oh, don't even start with me. Zack called me in even earlier than that, just to beat a few heads."

Sheridan grinned at him, then favored Picard with a speculative glance. "If what you say is true, there's nothing more we can do tonight, is there, Captain?"

"I'm afraid not," Picard confirmed. "I was thinking that we should convene a meeting here tomorrow morning to work out a course of action. 0900 should be equitable."

Nodding slowly, Sheridan voiced his agreement, then turned back to his own crew and the two Minbari. "Delenn, can you find the docking bay from here?"

"I believe so," she offered.

"I can help," Marcus added helpfully.

"No!" Ivanova said, too quickly, drawing another hurt puppy look from Marcus. She rolled her eyes, and grumbled, "I don't plan on getting lost just for the priviledge of twisting my spine on one of those slabs the Minbari call beds."

"No offense," she added, when Delenn regarded her curiously.

"We don't have any dignitaries aboard at the moment," Picard interjected, addressing Sheridan, "so we have several guest quarters available, if any of your crew would prefer."

Ivanova's eyes lit up, and she turned a desperate look on her commanding officer. 

Sheridan mulled that over, while Picard discreetly motioned to a pair of security guards down the hall, and finally shrugged. "If they want to, I don't have a problem with that. I'm not sure how much extra room the White Star has anyway."

"Count me in!" Ivanova said.

Marcus grinned, and raised his hand. "Me too."

"Do you think that your wonder-kid will make an appearence?" Garibaldi asked directly. At Picard's hesitant affirmative, he inhaled deeply. "Then I'll stay here. When I see him next, I'll have to thank him for de-aging me." He let out the rest of the breath, then added, "And then, I'm gonna escort his skinny omnipotent butt through the nearest bulkhead. The hard way."

Picard fought down a chuckle. He knew the feeling all too well, having had similar inclinations during most of Q's visits. Although, as far as he knew, Captain Sisko was still the only Starfleet officer who could claim to have actually punched him in the nose. He shook his head, then looked back at Sheridan. "Captain?" he offered.

Sheridan hesitated. The Minbari beds were less than comfortable. But then his glance chanced across Delenn, and when he turned back to Picard, it was to shake his head. "No thanks, Captain. Besides, who would fly that shuttle back if I stayed here?"

"Very well then," Picard concluded, hoping to wrap things up for the night, so he could finally retreat to his quarters and unwind from the tension that had filled the entire day. He turned to the two security guards, "Mr. Diego, escort Captain Sheridan to the main shuttlebay. Mr. Stiles, show the rest of our guests to the empty quarters on deck eight. Assign three adjacant rooms to them."

The guards snapped out a reflexive "Aye sir" and set about their tasks quickly.

Picard rubbed his temples irritably, trying to shake the sudden headache that was coming on, and began taking long strides towards the turbolift at the other end of the hall. Unsuccessfully, he tried to convince himself that their options would become clearer in the fresh light of a new morning. But his brain insisted on pointing out that as he'd told Sheridan, there really was nothing distinctive about morning on a starship as opposed to any other time. At least Data had insisted on manning the conn for the midnight shift again, and honestly, with no hint of what Junior had planned for this dimension, he couldn't argue the choice.


	16. Interlude

Interlude

"Now, even assuming that I believe you," the man drawled, leaning back in his chair, and studying the person across from him with a calculating expression, "why would I agree to this? You've told me what you want, but you've neglected what I get in return. There's nothing here to benefit my people."

The woman on the other side of the desk quirked a half-smile. "Your people? Please, you can drop the holier-than-thou attitude. I can see right through you." She paused, watching his eyes narrow, and laughed lightly at his expression. "As for what I can offer... the only thing you've ever wanted. Power."

Eying her distastefully, he rubbed his temple absently with one leather-gloved hand. "And what sort of power would that be?" He leaned forward. "I can't read you at all."

She laughed again. "Did you expect to? That should confirm I am what I say I am, at least."

"It doesn't. There could be other reasons I can't read you. Your being all-powerful ranks rather low on the list of possibilities."

"Pity you feel that way. As I am prepared to offer you some of that power, if you'll be good enough to help with this little project of mine." As she spoke, objects, papers, and a computer screen levitated from the desk, and began a complicated swirling dance in mid-air.

"Parlor tricks don't interest me." He gestured dismissively.

She frowned, and the objects dropped back to their original positions. The light in the room, which was coming from a large window behind the man, suddenly dimmed.

He turned, interested, as it began to rain outside, in a place where no rain should be possible. Lightning crackled, and a peal of thunder sounded, just loud enough to be heard through the heavy glass. "That is slightly more impressive, creating weather in an enclosed space. But I am skeptical by nature, and I would have to see something more substantial."

She raised an eyebrow at him, and regarded him from the haughty height of a human over a beetle. "Your planet might not survive a more impressive demonstration."

"How convenient." He sighed deeply, then turned away from the window. "I'll give your proposal due consideration, Ms..."

"M," she supplied. "Just M."


End file.
